


If Only The Toasters Had Been Roasters

by CollidingScope



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-08 08:52:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14690670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CollidingScope/pseuds/CollidingScope
Summary: 'Previously that week Gaeta had tried to explain to Starbuck why this was a very bad idea, but like most things (see: Arrow retrieval, Caprica rescue mission, that time she wedged her own godsdamn ship and Apollo’s together and combat landed them both into the hanger) once she’d made up her mind nothing could stop her. Gaeta could relate to that shunted ship on so many levels.“Gaeta, I said I would help you, and I meant it.”“Yes... but the Quartermaster said something about one-in-one-out- and that does make logistical sense.”“’Logistical sense?” She jabbed him hard in the chest. “Do tigers live by logistical sense? No they do not. No matter how tacky there are. And neither do the morons who get them tattooed on their skinny ass bodies.”Really, there were so many insults in there at once Gaeta wisely decided to sidestep them all and just nod his acquiescence.'A story about how Starbuck pressgangs Gaeta into procuring some of  Lieutenant Hoshi's fancy coffee- and it goes just about as well as expected.





	1. PART ONE

**Author's Note:**

> First, in my defence the fault lies at the door of whichever BSG writer had Lieutenant Hoshi spill his coffee in the CIC before being promoted to Admiral of the entire Base-Star-led Colonial Fleet. This whole unnecessary behemoth could’ve been avoided if you’d kept your adorkables in check. 
> 
> Second, because there’s kicking the puppy and kicking the puppy, most folk here who are canon dead or feeling dreich because of all the religious predestination hooha are slightly less dead and/or wrestling with more trope friendly things like coffee, libraries and terrible not-meet-not-cutes. Also, haberdashery crime. And really, Felix Gaeta deserves some joy in his life, hence here he gets to keep his legs and try to give away his heart.  
> Bar an impeccably nerdy grin brought on by frakking up a salute, Hoshi has always been Sphinx-like- so I’d like to remind everyone that what that means is he probably has the heart of a lion. 
> 
> Third and finally, kudos to JE for Face of The Enemy, but next time give us some Face of The Lovestruck Imbecile. Space is galactic enough for both.

**ONE**

Gaeta took a steadying breath before he turned the hatch door wheel. Coming in here now felt so very different than before New Caprica. Now he was someone the others didn’t naturally greet. Now everything seemed slightly awkward, on everyone’s parts. The president’s blanket amnesty had eased things a little, and the knowledge he’d been the source leaking vital information to the resistance was maybe making its way through the ship, but it was going to take time and space for wounds to heal- and unfortunately a Battlestar on the run from Cylons, now housing the crew of two ships instead of one, had neither of these luxuries.

But Gaeta was military, and gods if military discipline- which involved pushing all your hurt feelings way down inside and doing your job- wasn’t going to get him through this, one awkward twist of a hatch wheel at a time.

 

He heaved the door open and walked in to the sight of Helo flushing someone’s head down a toilet _._  A moment later he yanked Starbuck’s sopping form up, her long wet hair clinging to her face, drops of spray scattering as she shook herself like a dog.

“Frak me, Helo- I feel worse, not better!”

“I think the shaking is a bad idea. Just sloshes all the alcohol round a bit more.”

“Noted. No shaking, just dunking. Send me in again.”

Helo sighed. “Starbuck, really?”

“Gods damn it man, I need to sober up! And unless you’ve got a better idea then this is all I got. The Doc won’t give out meds for hangovers.”

It was testament to just how resigned Helo was to this plan that Gaeta could hear his sigh from across the room as headed quietly past them towards the far end of the quarters. Since he’d come back his original bunk next to Dee’s had gone to someone else- understandable since he’d mustered out and hadn’t expected to ever be back here. And Dee was with Lee now anyway.  Something else that had changed. Now he was in a different room, way down at the end around a corner that was near an emergency exit nobody ever used because it was jammed. It was quiet away from the communal space and the racks of the big personalities, and he had a choice of bed since the racks down here were vacant. Probably because it was cold at this end. Cold and quiet. That was the weird thing about soldiers- even in the most cramped quarters you wanted your family around you. Gaeta supposed it was about life and death, or, well, death, being around the corner. If death’s around the corner, have as much life as you can right next to you. As he unbuttoned his jacket and hung it in his locker he wryly accepted that his new incarnation as an outsider had turned him into something of a philosopher.

“Watch out I’m gonna puke again!” he heard Starbuck yell. And then puke.

 

“Alright Felix?” Helo asked as Gaeta headed back towards the door moments later. The Chief had said he’d meet him for something to eat- an offer Gaeta was so grateful for he’d had to swallow down a lump in his throat before quietly accepting.

“Yeah not bad thanks.” He glanced at the now slumped on the toilet cubicle floor Starbuck. “Rough night?”

Helo pulled up a chair and sat down. “Not for me. I’m a married man and love keeps you upright. But some of the pilots decided to try out the deck crew’s new brew.” He swivelled to face Starbuck and yelled unnecessarily loudly “Was it nice Starbuck?!”

“Frak you” came the painful broken reply. “Help or shut up.”

Helo laughed. “What you need, Kara Thrace, is a nice cup of magically strong coffee.” He wafted some imaginary vapours under his nose. “Freshly roasted and ground Aerilon beans, hints of dark chocolate and hazelnut, and oh, that tylium-powered caffeine hit coursing through your whole body…”

Starbuck groaned again. “Don’t you think I know that?”

Gaeta figured this was as good a time as any to try mending some broken fences. Starbuck had begun ‘talking’ to him- but not talking to him, and he desperately wanted things back to how they used to be. It was a Galactica patch on his arm and that surely meant something. “I’m going to the mess. I’ll could…”

“That stuff’s no frakking good Gaeta. Doesn’t even touch the sides,” she moaned, hauling herself up and flopping into a chair next to Helo, looking awful, even for Starbuck. Were her eyeballs green right now? Gaeta wondered if maybe not having any friends to get wasted with was a health blessing in disguise.

_You do have friends_. _Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You just need to remember how to_ be _friends with them._

 

“Ah, okay, well…” he drifted off, glancing at the door.

“What she meant to say” Helo explained, “was thank you very much Mr Gaeta for the offer, but that’s not the coffee I had in mind.” He wiped her sopping hair back from her face affectionately “and sadly in this instance I can’t have what I want because it’s impossible. Even for the great Starbuck.”

Suddenly she brushed his hand away and her eyes locked onto Gaeta’s. Too late he tried to pull away from the piercing gaze, to no avail. “Unless….” She began.

“Unless what?” Helo asked.

She hauled herself up and dragged herself over to Gaeta. An intimidating arm clamped around his shoulder, a wet hand took hold of his jaw and swivelled his head, so she was eyeballing him. Too close, and she smelled of puke and booze. Gaeta felt that residual primal part of a person’s fight or flee instinct kick in- voting very much to flee. Or at least hold his nose for a bit.  

“Well, the aforementioned elixir we’re talking about is in the possession of one person and one person only. And that person seems immune to all manner of methods of persuasion I and others have attempted- both with proverbial carrot and stick.”

Helo grimaced “Yeah I heard about your little flirting disaster at Joe’s last week. Followed by threat of violence. Come on Kara? For coffee?!”

“But” she continued, enthused now with her own idea “But here is a fellow CIC geek who works with our little hoarder every day. I know you’ve seen that flask Felix, that taunting silver flask he carries with him every morning. I know you can do this for me. For us. For the sake of our renewed friendship.”

Ooft. That’s why she was a crack shot. She squeezed him hard around the jaw and let him go, staggered towards her rack and rolled into it, yanking the privacy curtain closed.  Gaeta looked bewildered. “What are you talking about Starbuck? I haven’t seen any kind of flask. On anyone.”

Her face appeared again. “I’m talking about quiet, impervious to any sort of persuasion, threat, flirtation or bribery Lieutenant Hoshi and that godsdamn coffee of his. Next time I want me some. Have a boring conversation about boring buttons and switches. Make a friend to keep a friend, Gaeta!” And with that the curtain once again closed.

Gaeta looked at Helo for assistance. “The Pegasus guy? I don’t even know him,” but Helo just shrugged and grinned.

Gaeta turned the hatch wheel, feeling like he was somehow all of a sudden on the edge of something. Perhaps having the last word would ground him. “Also, Starbuck, those buttons and switches are integral to the safety of the fleet.”

He left to the sound of her muffled swearing and Helo’s warm laughter.

 

 

**TWO**

Viper pilots had a turn of phrase that Gaeta loved as a turn of phrase and hated as an actual thing being yelled down the comms at him during those times the ship was at Condition One and all hell was breaking loose around them. “Coming. In. Hot.” As in, ‘I am coming in hot:’ too fast, wildly and perilously, and likely to rip the undercarriage right off this bird- and leave (if the universe is feeling generous) some serious scorch marks or (ungenerous) biological matter all over the deck.

 

Gaeta did not come in hot when he tried to make boring conversation with Lieutenant Hoshi for the first time. He really didn’t. In fact, if Gaeta were to embrace the metaphor he’d say he came in slow. Or didn’t come in at all but missed the hanger altogether. Or actually perhaps he didn’t even get in the ship. Maybe he got as far as putting his flight suit on backwards, took a step and face-planted in the locker room. Where nobody found him. And he died alone.

 

He’d forgotten how to talk to people. That’s all it was.

_Play to your strengths Felix. Start on familiar territory._

It was quiet in the CIC and he was Officer of The Deck whilst Tigh was off doing something on the McConnell, so he decided to talk to everyone, one at a time, and that way he’d end up talking to comms, and then he could give Starbuck her little prize and then he could talk to Starbuck. Like in the olden days. Easy.

“Okay. 0:700 watch: good morning everyone. Let’s go around the room, shall we? Life support and water systems?”

“All essential systems check, sir.”

Gaeta realised these conversations were going to be brief. Perhaps too brief.

“What’s the update on the repairs to the ventilation shaft on deck 4?”

“Just a moment, sir.”

Gaeta glanced over at the comms desk whilst he waited for the report to come in- his old desk actually- and yep, there was the person who’d got the better of Starbuck. He didn’t look like anything. He looked, well, ordinary. He looked…background.

“ESS. Ventilation repairs estimated completion time 11:00 hours sir.”

“11:00? Great. And er…that’s changed since yesterday hasn’t it?

“Yes sir, from 9:00.”

“Ah. Cause of the delay?”

The woman on the desk glanced at him across the floor for a moment.

_What? He was being thorough. Thorough is a good quality in an acting X.O. Thorough saves lives, Ms Ship Systems._

“Maintenance brought the wrong paint with them.”

 Gaeta nodded. “Ah. Okay. Good. Well, good now that they’ve sorted that out.” He pressed on. “Tactical?”

“DRADIS free of contacts sir.”

Well that was a relief. Being under attack would make persuading someone to give you a flask of coffee more difficult.

“Comms?”

“Nothing to report sir.”

Gaeta studied the table surface, their current route projected out in front of him. A line of dots from one side to the other. Little jumps forward. Okay then.

“Flight schedules for the next hour?”

“Raptor 214 currently sitting on the deck awaiting departure for the Enkidu. Colonial One due to dock for repairs immediately after hanger is clear. CAP due to return for rotation in 42 minutes.”

“Thank you comms.”

“Sir.”

Well, there you had it. Talking done. Number of flasks acquired: none.

 

The door to the CIC opened and Helo entered in his blue uniform. Gaeta had learned that during the occupation Helo had become something of a jack-of-all-trades aboard Galactica: piloting raptors, but also taking on various positions in the CIC, including at one-point XO. Gaeta felt weird that Helo had relinquished that position so easily once he’d returned, but the Admiral had made the decision to bring Gaeta back in, and bar a bit of a rough start with Tigh, nobody including Helo seemed to mind. If they’d still had Pegasus perhaps Helo would’ve XO’d for Commander Adama, but now they were one ship again.

“Lieutenant.”

“Lieutenant. Message from the Admiral.”

“Go ahead Mr Agathon.”

Helo handed him a document. “New co-ordinates for the next jump. Instructions are to send a scout raptor out for reconnaissance and report back.”

“Understood. Comms, please relay the information to the flight crew.”

“Yes sir.”

Helo took the orders over to the station and returned to the central desk a moment later. “Did you hear about the paint mix-up?”

“Never a dull moment on the Galactica.”

He nodded over his shoulder. “So, ‘black’ ops not going great I see?”

Gaeta laughed quietly. “Funny. Why doesn’t she just buy some herself?”

“Do you know how much that stuff costs?”

“It can’t be that much. It’s just…beans.”

“Aerilon beans. Last in the galaxy. Even before the attack those things were pricey.”

Gaeta shrugged and lowered his voice. “Then how does a low-down lieutenant afford them?”

Helo grinned. “You don’t know?” He leaned over and briefly patted Gaeta on the back. “Just go with the ‘be-a-CIC-buddy-give-me-some-coffee’ plan. Stay away any other rabbit holes Felix.” And with that he turned on his heel and was out of there.

Gaeta had no idea what that last bit was about, but he decided to take the advice. Go over there, enquire about the coffee, offer some sort of exchange (maybe he would be up for the ex-comms guy covering his shift? Gaeta could do that _._

_You have nothing better to do_

And then everything could go back to normal. He wondered briefly what this person did with his down-time. He didn’t remember seeing him around much. But then, background, right?

 

He strolled around the CIC, as Adama sometimes did and as Tigh never did, eventually ending up at the comms station.

“Mr Hoshi.”

“Sir.”

And there was the coveted flask. There it was. Didn’t look like it could hold much coffee, maybe even just one largeish cup. But then, that made sense. It was for one person. This person here, wearing a headset that tufted his slightly too long hair out from his ears, looking at the screen in front of him. Gaeta remembered that’s why he’d kept his hair short when this was him. And now here he was, in front of a stranger from another ship who was waiting patiently for the Officer of the Deck and his curls to explain why he’d specifically come over.

Okay.

Gaeta reached out and tapped the flask. “Nice flask.”

“Yes sir.”

“Got a lid. To avoid spilling.”

The lieutenant didn’t reply to that, which Gaeta thought was fair since he hadn’t technically asked a question, and he had technically said something really stupid.

_Move on from the lid. Leave that lid nonsense in the past._

“Because there’s a lot of electrical equipment at this station. Liquids can be…detrimental to…that.”

“Yes sir.”

“You’re a Pegasus man so I’m assuming you’re highly diligent though.”

The lieutenant remained silent.

“Plus, it’s the cup right? The lid?”

“Yes sir.”

Gaeta walked away.

And spaced himself.

Gaeta walked away. And found himself at navigation. He realised he’d completely forgotten to check in with navigation when he went around the room. In fact, as he scanned the area he realised he’d not got very far round operations at all. He’d just stopped after comms. Oh gods this was _not thorough at all._

“Nav? Check in please,” he announced to the room.

_See how I am back on track. Back going around the room._

“Good morning sir. Navigation fully operational. Our current position is sector 5.7 in the Gaspar system. Estimated departure 2. 6 hours.”

Gaeta smiled at the officer who’d freely offered up whole sentences to him and actually looked him in the eye when talking to him. Jenkins, that was her name. A Pikon. Good at karaoke, bad at boxing. He was pretty sure Kat had knocked out one her teeth earlier in the year. It appeared she’d had no trouble purchasing a replacement. Gaeta decided not to think about the fact that teeth were apparently easier to get hold of than coffee beans.

“Thank you, Jenkins. And, not that Galactica does have many windows, but if she did, what would we see outside in the Gaspar system as we pootled our way through?”

_‘Pootled? Pootled!’_

(Gaeta would get unfairly fixed on that particularly bad part of the not-coming-in-hot experience later in his rack.)

_Why was he still speaking at this volume, so everyone could hear him say pootled?_

Jenkins took a moment to look at her screen. “Nothing of note sir.”

“Nothing of note? Maybe you’re selling the Gaspar system short, Jenkins?”

“Um, I don’t think so sir.”

Gaeta attempted an easy but still commanding smile and leaned casually against the station. “Really?”

“Well there’s nothing in the system sir. So…”

“Nothing?”

“No. There’s nothing here. No planets. No asteroid fields. It’s empty.”

Gaeta straightened up. “Thank you nav.” From over Jenkin’s shoulder he saw Helo return, but Helo indicated it wasn’t important so Gaeta kept walking.

Back to comms apparently.

“Sir?”

Well at least this time it seemed like the lieutenant was initiating a conversation.

_Whatever you need to tell yourself._

“The raptor? Raptor 214. Has it departed yet?”

“No. Still on the deck awaiting clearance.”

“Is there a problem?”

“The fuel crews rotate at the same time as we do, so there’s often a slight delay.”

Gaeta looked at the flask once again.

_Ask him about the flask. But not in a weird way like last time. Ask in an informative way. Ask for information. You’re the Officer of the Deck and that’s what OODs are entitled to from their crew. Information._

_Yeah- about the ship_.

 “And what’s in it today?” he asked, knowing there was coffee in the flask but deciding that small jumps along the route was the way to go.

“I... don’t have that information. Apologies. If you’ll just hold on for one moment.”

And then the man was speaking into his headphones before Gaeta could stop him.

“Hanger deck 6 this is Galactica comms. Request inventory of Raptor 214 currently awaiting departure. Please hold all outgoing flights until clearance. Thank you.”

A voice came back through the line. “Galactica comms, this is Hanger deck 6. Acknowledged. Please wait.”

Gaeta winced. “Lieutenant, I…”

“Galactica comms, this is Hanger 6. It’ll take us a few minutes to find that information out…” That was the Chief’s voice. He must’ve been in the launch room when the call came through. “I’m sending Cally down now to ground the bird and requisition the manifest.”

“Copy that Hanger 6. You’ll need a marine to formally accompany her in order to enforce handover.”

“Understood comms. Should we expect trouble then?”

The lieutenant stayed silent and Gaeta realised with horror that he was waiting for his superior to answer this. Gaeta leaned into the comms operator’s space and clicked the audio feed.

“Chief, this is Lieutenant Gaeta in CIC. No trouble, just a routine check, thank you.”

“Galactica comms, I’ve got Colonial One due to dock when the raptor had departed so…”

“Understood Hanger 6,” came Hoshi’s smooth unflustered reply. “I shall put a call through to Colonial One now requesting a delay of landing, awaiting an answer to the OOD’s request.”

“Roger that.”

“Thank you Mr Tyrol. Comms out.”

And then the conversation was over. Gaeta had at some excruciating point during it put back down the flask he was holding, which, _well,_ had coffee in, as everyone already knew, so why he’d asked what was in it in the first place was, well…

He’d put it back down.

“Thank you, Mr Hoshi. Please let me know when the information comes in.”

“Yes sir.”

Gaeta returned to the desk and looked at the all the dots on the map.

_Just don’t do any talking. That’s what Adama does and that seems to work out just fine._

Five minutes, or a lifetime later, he heard the lieutenant’s voice.

“Comms report.”

“Go ahead comms.”

“Hanger 6 confirms manifest of Raptor 214.”

“Excellent. Thank you.”

Gaeta realised he probably needed to ask what it was, after causing such a fuss.

_Please be smuggled guns or knives or, well, even smuggled vegetables at this point would be acceptable._

“It’s the paint sir.”

“Paint?”

He glanced over at the desk and the lieutenant had swivelled his chair and was looking right at him. “The wrong paint sir” he clarified, then added, in what Gaeta begrudgingly thought later was superfluous information he had _not_ requested “a sort of dusky pink shade, I believe.”

Beside him Gaeta heard Helo struggle to stifle a laugh.

“Thank you for finding that out Mr Hoshi.”

A brief pause, then the lieutenant added, in a tone laden with _something_ that he could not pinpoint (amusement? dissent?) “Anytime, Mr Gaeta.”

This was going to be a long shift.

 

 

**THREE**

Now that Mr Gaeta was a philosopher he approached material wealth with a new sense of stoicism. Not that he’d ever been wealthy, but like most pre-philosopher people he’d had his trinkets. The watch in his hand was one of them. It was a nice watch. His mother had bought him it as a 21st birthday present. It was slightly old fashioned, with a leather strap and three slivers of hands that circled round a brass centre. He’d stopped wearing it some time after the attack on the colonies- a too painful memory dredger-upper now, so it sat on the top shelf of his locker, and later was wrapped in a piece of cloth and put into his crate which went into storage when he mustered out. He was pretty sure he wasn’t the only one on board thanking the gods the storage facilities hadn’t moved over to Pegasus, else this watch would have returned to the star dust it was originally made from millions of years ago.

And now he was about to sell it to this old man with a jeweller’s eyepiece wedged in his eye socket.

“Nice watch this,” the man said. “Had one like it myself once upon a time. Give you 60 cubits for it.”

Well that was a better price than Gaeta expected. He could buy Starbuck some coffee beans (though frak if he knew how she was going to grind them. And brew them?) and maybe pick up some smokes for himself. He’d aimed to give up down on New Caprica, with the idealistic naivety of a person who was suddenly outdoors ‘in nature’ -but both New Caprica’s inclement climate and Baltar’s inclement presidential style meant he’d not managed it. And that was even before the occupation.

“60 cubits is great, I accept” he replied, shaking the old man’s hand.

“Mhm. Definitely find a new home for this beauty.”

“I hope so. My mother gave it to me.”

The store keeper smiled. “Well I hope you’ll buy something just as valuable with this” he said, handing over the money.

“I doubt it. But tell me, who do I go see about coffee beans?”

The man shook his head. “Beans? Woman over there in the yellow head scarf’ll sort you out with some powder. Pretty good too. Chicory I think.”

“No, I need the beans. Aerilon beans.”

The jeweller made a show of taking the eyepiece back out of the pocket of his waistcoat and screwing it into his eye, then dramatically leaning forward to examine Gaeta.

“Ah yes, I see what we have here, a wise guy. Very nice.” He let the eyepiece drop into his hand and laughed. “You’ll be lucky to get a whiff of Aerilon coffee for 60 cubits, let alone a bean.”

Gaeta looked at him disbelievingly. “60 cubits is a lot of money. Especially now.”

“yes. And Aerilon coffee is not a lot of coffee.”

Gaeta narrowed his eyes at the man, trying to decide if he was being messed with, but the old man held up his hands in a gesture of supplication. “Hey, maybe you’ll get lucky. Bo Cooper’s the one to see. Reasonable enough guy.”

“I guess if you start every morning with a fresh cup of coffee..”

The jeweller shook his head “a dealer doesn’t sample his own wares. Bad economic sense. Thanks for the watch, rookie!”

 

Gaeta liked a lot of things about Bo Cooper. He liked his silvery hair and his swooping moustache. He liked the way he’d been asked to thank Adama personally for coming back for them on New Caprica. He liked the black and white collie that was sat under Bo’s desk and which came and leaned herself on Gaeta’s legs, hoping to be stroked (which of course worked: he was a sap for adoring gazes.)

“My daughter’s ad-hoc seeing-eye dog” Cooper had explained. “She’s a teacher. The kids love both of them.”

Gaeta recognised the dog from New Caprica.

_I love her too-this dog kind of saved my life_.

But he didn’t like the fact that when Bo Cooper laughed at someone he laughed at them for a long, drawn-out time. It wasn’t a mean laugh, or an intimidating one. It was the kind of laugh grandfather’s use on their grandchildren. It made Gaeta feel foolish.

“How much?!”

“300.”

“I don’t want a sack!”

“A bag.”

“300 cubits for one measly bag of coffee beans?! That’s extortionate.” Gaeta was thankful stroking a fluffy dog was so soothing otherwise he was pretty sure he’d have completely lost his temper by now. Perhaps that was the purpose of the dog.

“That’s the market price. For everyone. Even Admiral Adama.”

“What’s the admiral got to do with this?”

“Well, the coffee’s for him, surely?”

“No. It’s for me.”

More laughing.

“Oh, I’m sorry Mr Gaeta. It’s just, normally the only people who ask for this are, well, VIPS. It’s basically gold. In fact, honestly I could probably sell you a bag of gold beans for cheaper than this. Although maybe not for 60 cubits…”

Gaeta gave the collie one final stroke and reluctantly stood up. She padded back under Cooper’s feet and promptly fell asleep, her role done.

 

As he caught a raptor back to Galactica he tried to figure out whether a comms officer holding the rank of lieutenant could also be a VIP. Surely a ‘background VIP’ was a contradiction in terms? He also idly wondered whether there might be some sort of black market bounty on the head of a VIP, because he was beginning to not really like this Mr Hoshi very much.

 

 

Later that evening in the rec room Dee kept picking stray hairs from his trousers and eventually she’d amassed enough that he had to explain, if only to put to rest rumours of a mysterious salt and pepper lover hidden away somewhere. She rolled her eyes and laughed, and when Gaeta confessed to being absolutely stumped at how anyone could afford to pay Bo Cooper all that money she finally put him out of his misery- and told him about The Baby Deer.

 

**FOUR**

“Gaeta listen to me. I am telling you partly as a former friend of yours” Gaeta scowled as a grinning Starbuck continued her pep talk in the rec room a week later, “but mainly as a concerned passer-bye. DO NOT GO HUNTING FOR DEER.”

Gaeta reached over for the ambrosia and an abandoned empty glass left over from whoever had been her drinking buddy before he’d got here.

“Starbuck. I’m a pretty good Triad player. I’ve beaten you once or twice.”

She gulped down her beer and wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. “Yeah, when I’d had a bit too much juice. But I’m telling you, Hoshi always wins. And he doesn’t really drink. Walk away Gaeta. Concerned passer-bye remember?”

Gaeta filled up his glass and took a measured sip. “I just think I can do it.”

“I’ve. Never. Beaten. Him!”

He shrugged, “Doesn’t mean I can’t.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Remember that time I came off the booze, for like a month?”

“No?”

“Well, I did. You know why?”

Gaeta shook his head.

“Because I wanted to win. And I knew I needed a clear head. Nothing but fruit juice and water for an entire month. Frakking skin went nuts. Ask me what happened.”

“What happened?”

She gestured that he slide the ambrosia over, which he dutifully did. She poured a slug straight into her tankard of beer, stirred it with a finger, took a swig. “He won.”

Gaeta rolled his shoulders and stretched his arms above his head. Starbuck slid the ambrosia back to him. “Maybe you’re no longer the best player Galactica has. Maybe it’s me.”

She put her drink down and tilted her head, puzzling him out. “Felix, forget about the coffee. I appreciate the effort you’ve put in to trying to acquisition some for me- and yes, at one point I was going to throw you out of an air lock for treason, but that was before all the wading through pink paint and fluffy dogs. Which in my handbook is a true sign of friendship.”

He winced. News travelled fast.

“So, if you want to play cards- play with me. Maybe you’ll win, maybe (probably) I’ll win. But at the end of the day what matters is it’ll be a painless defeat (for you) and you’ll come out of it relatively unscathed. Can’t say that with the Baby Deer.”

Gaeta groaned. “For gods’ sake, that’s such a stupid name and since when does anyone bar pilot jocks get nicknames? And more than that it’s a frakked up metaphor. Deer are prey, so I really don’t get it. If this Hoshi’s so dangerous shouldn’t he be, I don’t know ‘The Wolf. The…”

An image of the curl of brown hair popped into his head

“…the mousy wolf?” He smirked but Starbuck just shook her head.

“Pilots and monsters Felix.”

“Oh, come on! Why’d you call him that anyway?”

Starbuck shuddered and drained her tankard. “Oh man, just, trust me, _you of all people_ don’t want to ever figure that out.”

 

**FIVE**

Gaeta had figured it out.

Two utterly enchanting brown eyes looked over a hand of cards straight into his soul and actually through his soul and out the other side. Scratch that: Gaeta was reasonably certain if he glanced down at his chest right now he’d just see a hole where his soul used to be before it went frolicking in the woods with this monster opposite him, never to return.

Even if Gaeta did win this hand, and therefore the game, and the pile of cubits on the table between them, he knew he’d lost. Lost his mind. Possibly also his heart.

Frak because this guy was pretty.

How in the gods had he not noticed that before?

_Call yourself a tactical officer. Ugh._

_Background? This guy was_ never _going back into the background now. Damn it._  

Gaeta swallowed and yanked his gaze back to his cards.

_Deep breath, military training, squish, squish, squish._

Helo’s big hand squeezed his shoulder, steadying him. “You got this Felix” he whispered. And yeah, he did have the winning cards. And that’s what it ultimately came down to in Triad. Best cards win. Play the hand, watch the other person deflate, scoop up the winnings, revel in the glory. Plus, there was going to be so much glory. He was going to beat the Top Gun of cards. And a Pegasus guy. It was going to feel sweet. And all the Galactica crew who were gathered around, watching this showdown, might just start talking to him again for that. Word had spread that the Baby Deer may be getting some payback finally and the room was packed with viper jocks and deckhands and all sorts.

 

He poked around the pile of cubits in the centre, uncovering some nonstandard stakes as well (Racetrack’s smokes, Hotdog’s toothpaste,) and took a while to think about his next move. It was finally time to get what he came for.

“Your flask” he said firmly.

Hoshi blinked. “Sorry?”

“Your flask. _With_ coffee in it. The fancy coffee. Hot. That’s what it takes to stay in this game. Otherwise fold.” He hoped he sounded commanding, in a way he hadn’t done in the CIC the week before.

Hoshi looked down at his own cards then back up at Gaeta. Gaeta wisely avoided this trap but instead enjoyed the roar of approval that had erupted from the crowd around them.

“How did you know that I drink coffee?”

Gaeta risked a smirk. “Oh, I know a lot of things about you, Mr Hoshi of the Pegasus.”

_Not true. You know jack. Except his eyes are brown. And lovely. No don’t look into them. Look at Hotdog. Hotdog has regulation eyes. That’s better._

Hoshi was definitely staring at him now.

_Good. Maybe that’ll throw you off your game a bit. Although it does make me seem creepy, so…_

_Just stop thinking about it._

Hoshi scanned his cards for a moment, then at the pile. Eventually he nodded. “Does anyone have any paper I could have?”

Hotdog ripped an edge off a stray flight-pad that had been used to run some betting as the room cheered and handed him a scrap. Hoshi thanked him politely and slid out of his fatigues shirt pocket a non-regulation issue pen. He clicked the nib down and wrote something in neat small letters.

“Where did you get that weird pen from?” Hotdog asked.

“The giftshop.”

“The giftshop?”

“Well, the former giftshop. Yeah. It’s now a hanger storage, but there was a box of souvenirs and I always wanted something of Galactica’s when I was a kid back on Sagittaron, so.”

_Oh gods, wasn’t that just the most…_

 

As he watched the note flutter onto the pile of cubits Gaeta squished anything else that might be fluttering inside way way down. He retrieved the paper and read it. Twice.

 

_To Mr F. Gaeta,_

_On the occasion of winning a triad game, on this, the 17 th of the 9th:_

_One flask of freshly brewed Aerilon coffee_

_Delivered in person,_

_Yours,_

_L.H_

_So say we all._

 

He most definitely did not for a moment consider offering to play just for the note, because how could all the cubits in the galaxy compare to his name gently and precisely written out in the hand of a guy who keeps a souvenir pen in his shirt pocket at all times because he loves the Galactica that much?  

 

Wait, the lieutenant was saying something.

“You guys do know we’ve got a burnt out Cylon raider in there too?”

Helo laughed. “Oh yeah man. We got boarded a while back.”

Hoshi’s face was sympathetic. “Pegasus too. Pretty terrifying.”

“You can say that again.”

 

“Well then, shall we finish this?” Gaeta blurted, with more confidence than he felt.

He was pretty sure he was going to win. He had somehow managed to end up with Four Up and not only that, but they were all Princes. He wasn’t sure he’d _ever_ had a hand this good and he’d taken extreme care in not giving away what he was sitting on. Plus, he’d been watching the pack diligently and had seen Racetrack fold an Eyecard in the hand she was knocked out on, so the lieutenant couldn’t make a higher Four.

Helo, who could see his cards, was grinning madly at his opponent- obviously trying to psych him out. Gaeta wondered briefly just how many people in this room the lieutenant had cleared out of cubits, and just how loudly they were going to celebrate his smiting in a few moments time. Did he feel sorry for the Baby Deer? No, he did not.

“Hold on a second there, boys” Starbuck suddenly said, pushing her way to the front of the table. Gaeta hadn’t realised she was in here too. She picked up the scrap of paper and read it.

“Nice penmanship Mr Hoshi.”

Hoshi seemed a bit taken back about how to respond. “Thank you, Captain Thrace.”

“I am sorry about threatening to pull your ears off in Joe’s bar a while back.”

“Um, that’s ok.”

“I also think, in the interest of making it up to you for that, that since Aerilon coffee goes for 300 cubits a bag here in the fleet…”

The room filled with low whistles of disbelief.

“But that’s not what I pay for…”

She cut him off. “That’s right folks, 300 cubits, I do believe that Gaeta should only be able to call the bet with something of equal value.”

More cheering now, and lots of called-out suggestions for what the lieutenant should ask for.  Gaeta threw Starbuck a dirty look, but she just mouthed back ‘fair’s fair Gaeta.’ And she was right. He’d been pushing his luck with the request. He waited to see what his opponent deemed valuable. He had maybe 30 more cubits in front of him but that was it. He did have a pair of civilian leather shoes back from his time on New Caprica which were probably worth something. Or…

“Shut the frak up everyone, give the man a chance to be heard!” Starbuck commanded, and instantly there was silence in the room.

“Mr Hoshi?”

“Yes. Right.”

“Well? What d’you want, soldier?”

Gaeta leaned forward to hear better, even though they were sat a few feet away from each other. At this point he couldn’t help but meet those brown eyes. Yep, whoever’d coined that nickname was spot on. The doe-eyed, innocent….

“I’d like to sleep in Mr Gaeta’s rack, if that’s alright.”

 

The entire room erupted with whoops and jeers. Starbuck snorted. Gaeta prayed that his mouth had not fallen open, but he had a horrible feeling that it had. Hoshi just sat there and waited. His face had exactly the same calm expression on it as it did in the CIC, day-in, day-out. Nukes could be reigning all around, Cylons knocking on the door, and it seemed like this guy was patience personified.

He wouldn’t have been surprised in the least if the beaming Starbuck hadn’t straddled the lieutenant there and then and kissed him senseless, because this was some Thrace level of psychological messing with your opponent and say what you like about her, she gave credit where credit was due.

Gaeta definitely hated him. He wondered who he could bribe to put Hoshi’s dog tags in the pot next time the admiral arranged a Dance, so he could punch him in that peaceful, pretty face. He was both proud and surprised that he managed to get out a quiet “Huh?”

 

Hoshi glanced across at Starbuck anxiously. “Sorry, I suspect that came out wrong,” he explained, “What I meant was, his rack is right down the end of the officer’s rooms where it’s quiet. So…I’d like to switch. If I win. Does that seem equivalent to the coffee, Captain Thrace?”

 

She again silenced the room, shoved a guy who had managed to bag a seat off his chair. “Move it nugget! I want front row seats to this epic love story.”

“This game of triad” Gaeta heard himself clarify. Lamely.

_File with pootle._

Starbuck put her hand on her heart and threw him an _I-told-you-so_ look. She mouthed ‘Concerned. Passer. By’ and sat down. Gaeta figured it was way too late to take heed now.

Hoshi’s quiet voice dragged him back into the moment. “Lieutenant? Is that acceptable to you? The coffee for the bunk? Because if it’s too much…”

Gaeta nodded, managed a quick ‘it’s fine.”

 

Then he had a think about it, remembered it was just about who had the best cards- which was almost certainly him- and nodded again, more firmly this time.

“Yes. That’s fine. And I accept.” Cubits, smokes, toothpaste, a flask of Aerilon coffee he was seriously considering no longer giving to Starbuck but drinking himself because really, _betrayal much?_ A minute more and he could gather it all up and go home.

“Yeeharrr!” Starbuck crowed. “Show us what you got!!”

Gaeta shrugged at Hoshi across the table a sort of half-hearted _better luck next time,_ and revealed his Fours Ups. There was no need to be rude when smiting.

“Princes Fours frakking brings it home!” Starbuck yelled, standing up again. “Oh my gods you actually beat The Baby Deer!”

Hoshi looked confused. “The who?”

She jabbed two fingers in front of his eyes. “That’s. You.”

Helo couldn’t contain his excitement anymore. “Come on Hosh! Unless you’ve got Full Colours then game’s over.”

Hoshi turned over Full Colours.

 

Everything exploded. Starbuck howled to the heavens, planted a big wet one on Hoshi’s cheek and upturned the entire table, scattering cubits everywhere. A bottle of ambrosia sailed across the room. The comms officer got dragged into a roaring mob of bodies and disappeared, hopefully trampled to death in some sort of pyrrhic victory.

Gaeta: heartbroken, elated, turned-on and poverty stricken, honestly thought he was going to cry.


	2. PART TWO

 

SIX

It was a fact that rarely ever came up, but Gaeta did have his flight wings. Since leaving New Caprica he had been going out with Skulls from time to time both to brush up on his skills (because honestly, they just had less pilots now) and because he liked to be outside and see the whole fleet. It settled something inside him, checking they were still there, still together. He felt like a shepherd, which was a ridiculous analogy, because maybe he felt more like a sheepdog ( _thanks for that image, Bo Cooper)_ but still. This was home. This was his flock. He didn’t plan on seeing it divided again.

Plus, you know, stars.

Racetrack banged on his Raptor window and jabbed a thumb at the empty pilot seat.

“What?” Gaeta asked, realising too late she couldn’t hear him through his helmet. But she obviously understood what he meant because she did it again, and this time mouthed “move over.”

As he unbuckled himself and clambered over into the other seat Racetrack climbed aboard the raptor and began flipping the take-off sequence switches. Lights turned from red to green and the hum of the engines began to fill the cabin. “You’re flying us out today, Nightingale” she explained. “Skulls says you got this.”

Gaeta grinned, pleased to be complimented. Racetrack was notoriously protective of the raptors. “Wait…is this a trick? Pegasus pilot takes out Galacticans and ‘loses’ them in space?”

Racetrack didn’t deign to answer.

“Well I appreciate the level of trust Racetrack. Thank you. And to what do I owe the pleasure of your company instead of Skulls this evening?”

“He’s sick. Threw up in his helmet.”

Gaeta made a face. “Yikes.”

“More than yikes. The nugget who was out with him had to land the bird.” She smirked, “Always nice when you can give a rookie pilot their new callsign.”

 

Out of the window the aircraft marshall began waving her take-off beacons and Gaeta fired up the engines.

Racetrack clicked on the comms. “Galactica comms, this is Racetrack. Raptor 77 requests permission to launch?”

Dee’s voice came over the speaker “Raptor 77, this is Galactica comms: permission granted. All yours, Nightingale.”

“Thanks Dee,” Gaeta replied, easing the throttle up and nudging the little ship out towards open space. “Nice to have you on the other end of the line. Didn’t think you were on duty this evening.”

“Wasn’t supposed to be- got called in to cover. But glad to be your lighthouse, Raptor 77. Safe flight. Comms out.”

 

They headed out of the hanger and into the blackness of space. From time to time Racetrack would suggest a few adjustments here or there, or send him on a new route, or at one point get him to roll the raptor over and fly upside down for a while- which Gaeta struggled to see the military advantage of.

“Is this why Skulls was sick in his helmet?”

“Ha ha. No. He was sick cos he has that virus that’s going around. Stupid frak kept saying he was fine. Til he wasn’t.”

Gaeta imagined the keel-hauling Doc Cottle no doubt gave Skulls even as he soothed his symptoms. Quite a bedside manner.

“Are you going to have to pick up the training then?” he asked.

“Looks like. Commander Adama wants all ECO qualifieds to also have their wings- which means logging _actual_ flight hours rather than the nominal sim-time back at the academy.  He’s got Athena and Narcho jumping out and scaring all those poor sods who never thought they’d have to fly stick and who are now hiding in cupboards praying nobody will notice.”

There’d been a lot of people in Gaeta’s graduation class who would’ve fitted that description. They were bridge geeks who loved all the electronic countermeasures activities: jamming transmissions, decoding incoming traffic, confusing the enemy’s DRADIS etc. Hells, Gaeta loved that too. But he was one of the rare students who took the practical flight training class over one of the other technical modules. 

“Shame Pegasus’s flight simulator is no more.”

“Yep. We’re back to old fashioned seat-of-the-pantsing it.”

“How did the rook who had to land for Skulls do?” he asked, guiding the raptor under Colonial One, taking a moment to glance out of the side window to see if he could catch a glimpse of the president. No luck.

Racetrack scowled. “Well, they got the bird down eventually. After bouncing round the hanger like a pinball. Flew right over the pad and nearly parked it on top of the Admiral’s prize Mark 2 viper, though. Can you imagine the old man’s face?!”

Gaeta laughed. “Oh gods, yes I can. There were quite a few folk who could nail Adama’s gravelly voice, and Gaeta was one of them, though not as good as Helo.

_“If you put your ass on my little ship-I will kick your ass right off my big ship.”_

Racetrack snorted and tapped a bulky panel above them. “Yep. Plus, the dummy headbutted this in all the jolting around. Practically split their head open.”

“Through the helmet?”

“Didn’t have a helmet on!”

Gaeta rolled his eyes. Who flies without a helmet?! “Well that’s got to be an automatic wash-out.”

Racetrack pointed at the flag ship and Gaeta began to turn the raptor for home. He was sad his time was up already. _Time flies, he thought._

 “Oh no. Not now I’m in charge. Happy Trail’s gonna pass basic flight whether they like it or not. No failures in my class.”

Happy Trail. Gods, that was worse than Hotdog.

“Happy Trail?”

“When it’s all heading dickways…”

Gaeta was really really grateful he had a beautiful singing voice.

 

 

 

Laird was in the hanger talking to the Chief when Gaeta climbed out of the ship. When Tyrol had been busy blowing stuff up on New Caprica Laird had been the de facto deck chief those long months away. Apparently they’d now switched back. Gaeta unclipped his helmet and unzipped the flight suit jacket-he’d forgotten how uncomfortable and hot these things were- and he and Racetrack went over to deliver their flight boards and say hello. 

“Chief. Laird, how’s it going?”

“Not bad landing Lieutenant” Laird replied. “Pretty smooth take-off and landing today. Perhaps you chose the wrong career path.” He took Gaeta’s helmet from him.

Gaeta shook his head. “No thanks. I like being at the top table. Just brushing up on my skills, that’s all.”

“Yeah, I don’t think you should get a big head about it just yet” Racetrack reproached.

“Thanks.”

Laird must’ve caught a glimpse of someone familiar over Gaeta’s shoulder, for he raised his hand in greeting. Gaeta turned and watched Lieutenant Hoshi approach. He had a sticky plaster over part of his eyebrow.

“Hey Louis” Laird said. “I told you I could’ve glued that for you straight away- no need to go see Doc Cottle.”

“Thanks Greg, but there is actually protocol to follow about ‘injuries sustained during workplace activities,’ he replied, having the decency to look a bit embarrassed at all the by-the-book-ness coming out of his mouth.

“Shame. The stuff we use to stick bits of Starbuck’s viper back on every rotation smells awful.”

The chief laughed in agreement and folded his arms. “There’s probably protocol about wearing a helmet whilst flying a raptor as well,” he teased.

Hoshi looked sheepish and bit the corner of his lip. “About that. I just came to apologise again. For the, well, in case I left any blood on the auxiliary jump panel.”

Racetrack gently poked him in the arm. “Knows every panel but doesn’t know how to avoid braining himself on them.”

“Don’t worry about it, Lieutenant,” the chief replied. “If that’s the worst gunk in there I’d be surprised. Some of those pilots are out there a long time, all by their lonesome, with nothing to do but…”

Laird made a face. “This is why I don’t miss being the Chief.” 

“Oh, but I did so like the whole ‘Chief, other chief’ thing we had going on for a while there.” Racetrack lamented dramatically.

Laird shook his head. “I’m quite happy going back to tinkering thank you very much” he explained. “Never that comfortable running the floor even on Pegasus.” He grew quiet. “Seems like a lifetime ago now.”

“Three lifetimes” Tyrol added with empathy.

“Yeah.”

Gaeta just stood there and listened. It struck him that Laird and Hoshi must know each other pretty well to be on first name terms- especially since he couldn’t imagine Admiral Cain allowing such informalities. Maybe it was something that happened after she’d gone. _Because she had gone._

_You should say something, otherwise it’s just weird, you being silent for this long._

“It wasn’t really your life, Laird,” he said gently. “You just got dragged in. You’re not proper Pegasus like Lieutenant Hoshi here.”

Hoshi didn’t say anything, but Laird seemed to take some comfort from Gaeta’s words.

“I guess” he said. “Anyways, chief shall we go see if we straighten out that gun port now?”

“Yeah, let’s,” Tyrol replied. “I was in a pretty grumpy mood earlier today. Two of my fuel lines have broken, I’ve got that aforementioned viper with a bent port and Cally’s annoyed I don’t do more of the laundry. Plus, I just know Racetrack is loitering because she wants me to sign off on upgrading her raptor seat’s upholstery.”

He rested a friendly hand on Hoshi’s shoulder. “But then I got to witness some of the most inventive indoor parking I’ve seen in a long time, from Happy Trail here, and it really cheered me up. Come on Laird, I feel a second wind.”

Tyrol and Laird strolled off to the work bay, and Racetrack followed since he was dead right about the raptor upgrades. Gaeta and Hoshi were left alone.

“I have to get back to CIC” Hoshi said, abruptly turning on his heel and heading for the exit.

 

 

 

 

SEVEN

Gaeta caught up with him as he left the hanger area.

“Dee’s on comms tonight, covering for you I suspect, so that doesn’t seem like that can be true” he said cheerfully.

Hoshi didn’t answer but kept walking down the corridor, so Gaeta kept walking with him. “So where are you truthfully going then?”

“The book drop on Deck 5. There’s some raptor training manuals there” Hoshi answered.

 “You spend a lot of time in there?”

“Some.”

“Seems studious.”

“Well.”

Gaeta was warming up from all this brisk walking, so he rolled his jacket down and tied it at the waist. “Lead on. Maybe I’ll see if there’s a book that can teach me how to win at Triad.”

Hoshi turned to ever so briefly catch his eye, then nodded.

_The neutral nod. That’s your signature move Mr Hoshi. I’ve worked that out now. Except I don’t think it is neutral at all. I just can’t quite figure out what…_

They turned a corner and Gaeta swerved to avoid a gaggle of religious nutters. They had caught him by surprise as usually this far into the bowels of the ship it got significantly quieter. It was mostly long-term storage down on deck 5: mechanical parts, some back-up systems, miscellaneous and boring bits and bobs that were no doubt essential but hardly ever needed being replaced. Plus of course the books.

Other ships in the fleet had their own book deposits, and there had been a library on Cloud 9, but most people used electronic devices nowadays. The admiral had a strange soft spot for the written word: Gaeta had seen his leather-bound collection in his room, possibly heirlooms he figured, since he couldn’t imagine Adama in some crusty old bookshop down in Caprica City. But then, who really knows anyone? He could be totally wrong about that.

Galactica did keep a store of hard copy manuals for pilots, though. This was because some psychologists had proven that after staring at instrument screens for hours it wasn’t a great idea to then stare at hand held screens for more hours. It was suggested that merely by changing the format (digital to paper) made it slightly easier for the information to go in. Gaeta suspected, stereotyping pilot jocks somewhat, but hey, that not many pilots bothered with this little fact, and stuck with their handhelds anyway. The more he learned about this particular officer though, the less surprised he was to realise that of course Hoshi followed the guidelines.

_Hence we’re off to the library together._

 

They climbed down a run of steps and walked further into the ship. Gaeta wondered whether he should bring up the whole ‘rack swapping’ thing- which they hadn’t yet initiated, even though Hoshi had won that privilege fair and square.  As they reached the heavy door to the book depot he decided he would.

“Hey, whilst we’re here, we should probably discuss the whole who-sleeps-where thing” he suggested, hoping he was riding the line between nonchalant and suave, suspecting he really wasn’t. But if there were actually options available here he definitely wanted Hoshi to pick up on the fact he was happy to explore them. With him. Because eyes.

And also, he was beginning to realise, because of other Things.

Hoshi looked at him, nodded again then turned and unlocked the door wheel.

_See, is that neutral? What even is that?_

Gaeta had never been in here before, so he took a moment to familiarise himself. It wasn’t very appealing- bare walls, still very much just a storage room, and there wasn’t a large selection of books; maybe half a dozen standard issue metal shelves, each filled reasonably haphazardly. And there was nowhere to sit, no comfy chairs like a library should have.  But as he drifted around he saw that, no, it wasn’t completely haphazard. There were neat labels above each of the shelves denoting topics, so at least some sort of ad hoc filing system at some point. Now there were also random piles on the floor, so he figured that somewhere along the way Galactica had lost her librarian. It didn’t take much to guess how.

 The biggest selection was fiction, and that made sense since he supposed that’s what most people had on them when they fled the destruction of the colonies. But there was also a small ‘history/biography’ section and some pretty dry science books which probably nobody but Gaius would have ever checked-out (except that guy was so smart he’d probably already read them.) He did a double-take when he saw poetry/engineering filed together and there was also a ‘hobbies’ section which seemed to only contain books on crafts it was unlikely humanity would ever need to use ever again (‘Dairy farming/water-table maintenance/ Advanced Cobbler’s Techniques: eyelets, welts and cuffs.’)

As he reached the end of the shelving he saw a unit he hadn’t noticed before, up against a far wall. He squinted so he could make out the sign tacked up at the top.

‘PEGASUS MISC.’

These were the books that had made their way over before the ship was sacrificed above New Caprica, unsorted into genre.

“Hey Lieutenant, can I ask you something?”

Hoshi had headed over to a pile of aviation folders dumped by a wall- obviously he came here often and knew his way around- but he wasn’t really looking at them- he was just sort of, well, what was he doing?

_He’s waiting to see what you’re doing,_

_And what are you doing?_

_I have some ideas,_ said a part of his body that wasn’t his brain.

“Sure.”

“How did those books end up on the ship?”

“Oh,” Hoshi seemed to relax slightly.

_Because he was tense a moment ago. Interesting._

“Garner wanted the storage space, so he sent them over.”

“Everything without valuable ends up on the Bucket” Gaeta quipped.

Hoshi’s eyes narrowed. Like he was taking that personally.

_Well that had clearly come out wrong._

And now he was coming over.

_Okay…_

_Amusement/dissent? Amusement/dissent? Gods he was hard to read._

Gaeta grasped desperately for the nearest book as a sort of go-between thing to talk about. Unfortunately, it was the shoemaking manual. He held it up against his chest, displaying the front.

“Can you believe someone gave this away?” he joked lamely.

Hoshi reached over and took it right out his hands. Gaeta couldn’t help but stare at him as he opened the cover and read the contents page- right there in his personal space. Gaeta could feel himself beginning to flush so decided to look at Hoshi’s insignia patch instead: Pegasus silver instead of Galactica gold. He wanted to trace his fingers over the lettering. He wanted to be outside. He wanted the war to be over. He wanted, he wanted.

“Hmm” Hoshi eventually said, cryptically, and slotted it back in the correct place on the shelf.

 

And then Gaeta had nothing to talk about, so they stood there in the lengthening silence and he felt weird, felt nervous and happy and a bit disorientated like he was still up in the cramped Raptor banking slowly around Colonial One but with all that profoundly dark and beautiful openness all around him.

His voice, when eventually spoke, was quiet.  “Can I ask you something else?”

Hoshi nodded again.

“Why didn’t you have your helmet on?”

“I took it off to give to Skulls. His was full of vomit.”

 

_See. That was one of the other Things._

_This man was kind._

 

Can you regret doing something whilst knowing at the same time that if you got a do-over you’d definitely just do it again? Gaeta the philosopher turned this question over and over in his mind, much later, when he lay in his bunk, playing out the disaster. And it had started so well with that smooth, effortless flight around the reunited fleet.

 

_Note to self: don’t end day kissing someone who doesn’t want you to kiss them._

EIGHT

Gaeta had never understood why Dee liked Colonial Day so much. She was from Sagittaron, and although, yes, she wasn’t a typical Sagittaron (i.e. a religious nutjob who thought pot pourri was the answer to all ills) he still didn’t get why someone from somewhere that the other colonies looked down on would be so enamoured by the idea of unity.

“But that’s the point, Felix” she explained, threading another triangular flag onto some bunting, “I like anything that reminds us we’re just one family, despite our differences.”

She examined his handiwork and grumbled, pretending to be annoyed. “Well isn’t this the sloppiest work I’ve ever seen?! How do you expect a Battlestar to function if it’s bunting is all tangled up, Lieutenant? I’m sorry but I’m just going to have to expel you from the production line.”

She playfully tried to shove him off the bed- hers and Lee’s since they were in their private quarters- but he manfully fought her off until she burst into laughter.

Dee was trying to cheer him up, he knew that. She’d been trying for nearly a month now. Inviting him to things, fussing over him, being a good friend. Occasionally it worked, but then sometimes he remembered what had happened in the book drop- and then it just really didn’t.

 

 

 

Like Hoshi saying quietly:

“Can you just stop with…all of this, please?”

“Stop?”

“Yes. It makes me uncomfortable. And also kind of pissed. You could’ve just asked, instead all this…whatever this is you’re doing.”

Gaeta took a shaky step back from the shelving. A moment ago his bare arm had been up there, caging Hoshi in as he leaned towards him and gently put his mouth on the lieutenant’s.

“Asked?”

“For the coffee.”

Gaeta defended himself, even though he wasn’t sure yet what he was being accused of. “Starbuck asked. You said no.”

“To her. _You_ could’ve explained. That you wanted to give her something that would mend your friendship. Because after New Caprica you felt disconnected. And small gestures can be, well, big things, really, so…”

Gaeta felt his hackles rise. “How do you know that’s what it was for? And how do you know how I felt after New Caprica? You stayed on Pegasus. Even after months and months, when most people had decided to actually contribute to a new start for humanity.”

Hoshi blinked. “It was my job. I’m fleet.”

Gaeta wasn’t sure why he was picking a fight. Okay he was. He didn’t handle rejection well and he was lashing out.

“So what? You just planned on getting up every morning, buttoning on the same blues day in, day out, passing the pastries to Commander Adama, going round and round the planet for the rest of your life?”

Hoshi didn’t say anything more for a moment. He seemed to be considering Gaeta’s words. He did hold Gaeta’s gaze while he did this though, and Gaeta felt pinned, like in CIC when an alarm registers on the screen to alert him the ship is taking damage, but he can’t figure out where and he’s too frozen to do anything. 

The lieutenant’s default calm, patient face registered nothing of course. Just like always.

Except not anymore.

_It’s dissent. You finally figured him out, Felix. He definitely dissents._

“You’re right. I don’t know how you felt” Hoshi finally admitted. “But you should’ve just asked. I don’t appreciate being targeted as a means to an end. It’s unkind and dismissive. To be on the end of it in Joe’s with Captain Thrace was humiliating enough, without the repeat performance here.”

 

He moved away from the shelving and Gaeta fully expected him to head to the door, but instead Hoshi returned to the shelf with the aviation folders. He took his time finding the one he’d came for then addressed Gaeta again.

“I’m sorry that this is uncomfortable. We work together in CIC and I respect you as an officer. I’m sure in a few days it won’t feel like this…” He waved his hand between them, vaguely trying to express the ‘whatever’ that existed there now. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you need to win anyone over for them to be friends with you. If you did, well they were never your friends in the first place. I’m also sorry that sounds like a cliché. But sometimes what doesn’t need to be said should be said anyway.”

Gaeta felt both drained and full of something that needed to get out at the same time. He folded his arms and rolled his eyes. Went for blasé, missed by a country mile. 

“For frak’s sake, Lieutenant. It was just coffee, alright. No need to cry your eyes out over your delicate sensibilities being violated.”

A moment of nothing, then the other man nodded.

_Of course he did._

Then he left.

Gaeta waited a while then headed back up to the living deck, stopping to go to the Head. He closed a cubicle door and sat down on the seat.

And inexplicably cried his eyes out.

 

In his defence, he had tried to fix things in the weeks that followed. Well, not fix things because obviously they couldn’t be fixed. Gaeta had developed a stupid crush on someone he worked with who not only wasn’t interested but also thought Gaeta was kind of a jerk. Gods, he hadn’t even got to finding out about Gaeta’s impulsive ridiculous tattoo. Gaeta knew with a cold iron certainty that Lieutenant Hoshi did not have an impulsive ridiculous tattoo. 

The crush had definitely gone now, leaving just humiliation and an unspoken ‘whatever’ ( _insert vague hand waving here)_ between the two minorly injured parties. A few days after the incident they’d both ended up on rotation in the CIC and Gaeta had decided to help facilitate that wished for ‘won’t even matter’ state that Hoshi seemed confident would happen. He heard Tigh ask comms for a flight update.

“Mr Hoshi, comings and goings this evening?”

“Yes sir.”

Gaeta waited for comms to call up the relevant files. He didn’t look at the comms desk- he’d hear them from here, just like every station in the CIC could hear everyone else. Instead he adjusted some astronomical calculations he’d been working on in front of him.

“Captain Thrace is flying CAP with Kat and Stinger. Due to return in 19 minutes. Chief Tyrol is testing fuel consumption on the viper 7s so he’s got everyone out until bingo fuel. Two Raptors prepped for the reconnaissance mission, awaiting co-ordinates from tactical.”

“Thank you Mr Hoshi.”

“Sir.”

“Mr Gaeta?”

“Yes sir”

“You keep chewing that pencil before you finish crunching the data and Mr Hoshi’ll have to just send’em out with some numbers he picks from the lottery.”

Gaeta went for a joke, since Tigh seemed in a good mood. For a man who’d had his eye gouged out.  “We have a lottery now sir?”

“I hear the prize is shares in an algae farm.”

Gaeta came over to the central table with his notes.  “Fingers crossed then.” He attempted to hand them over. “I’m done with the calculations.”

“Well don’t frakking don’t give them to me, I’m only the ringmaster, here. You know what Mr Hoshi looks like, don’t you?”

Gaeta wondered if Tigh had meant anything by that. But, aside from the flirting during the triad game (which could be dismissed as just part of the general banter of the evening) nobody except Dee knew what happened in the book drop.

_Starbuck knows you liked him._

_I never said I liked him._

_She knew. ‘Don’t go deer hunting?’ ‘Epic love story?’ Yeah, she called it even before you did._  

_Plus, Hoshi knowing about why the coffee mattered so much? They must’ve talked about it at some point._

_Well, it doesn’t matter anyway._

Gaeta took comfort in the fact Starbuck wasn’t interested in anyone else’s business. She wouldn’t give a frak either way about whether or not Gaeta had managed to nuke himself in the heart in the pursuit of easing her hangovers.

 

Hoshi was speaking to the flight deck when Gaeta went over to the station. He wasn’t wearing his usual headset, but instead was talking into the general mic.

_Also, he’s cut his hair._

“Thank you for that Kat, but I’m afraid I am required here in the CIC at the moment.”

Kat’s voice crackled over the speaker. “All I’m saying is, I’ve tried half a dozen times now and I still can’t land my ship on anything but the wide-open deck. Should I paint an X on the Old Man’s ship? Do a girl favour and show her how it’s done, Trails.”

Hoshi sighed. Gaeta suspected this joke was getting old. “Mr Gaeta is here with some important documents so…”

“Hang on Comms, the CAG wants a word.” Kat’s voice cut out.

Gaeta handed over the co-ordinates.

“Anything interesting in this system?” Hoshi asked.

_Well okay. They were talking._

“A Type 2 gas giant, couple of asteroid fields we may have to navigate round.”

“Too big to clear and go through?”

“A barrage’ll probably create more dust than the civilian fleet ships can handle. In the long run going round will probably save us a lot of trouble.”

“Okay.”

Hoshi looked up at him then, and Gaeta relaxed a little because actually this probably was going to be alright. He thought back to the card game. With a little perspective he could accept it for what it was. Just a little fun. He didn’t think about the book drop.

“Been playing much Triad?”

Hoshi shook his head. “Thought I’d quit whilst I’m ahead.”

“No-one’ll play you, huh?”

“Seems not.”

Gaeta risked a neutral smile.

Hoshi called up a new screen on his display and he watched him copy the co-ordinates in. Then he was handed the document back. “Thanks.”

Gaeta took a deep calming breath. “Sorry about the cards. And…um, the other stuff.”

The lieutenant blinked back at him, the smallest of nods. Gaeta decided to press on.

“But, well, speaking of, I do think that you should probably, you know, sleep in my rack from now on.  I mean, it’s your bed really, so…”

Tigh’s voice came roaring out behind him before Hoshi had a chance to answer. “Mr Gaeta! As much as we all enjoy listening in on yours and Mr Hoshi’s sleeping arrangements- who has to have the side next to the wall, who gets the nice soft pillow- maybe CIC officers should stick to, oh I don’t know, detecting Cylon base stars and keeping the ship from falling out of the sky?”

Gaeta gave Hoshi a panicked look and fled back to his station. As he left he could hear Kat’s voice howling over the comm system. Of course the mic had still been open- Hoshi had never checked out. She (and everyone in this room) had heard everything.

Hoshi said nothing. But he looked pissed.

 NINE

The _like-being-in-an-active-launch-tube_ yelling had come a week later.

Ishay lay in her bunk and said it again. “Really. I’ve _never_ heard Hoshi raise his voice like that. Ever.”

Lee was loitering in the duty locker for some reason. Gaeta suspected he was hiding from Starbuck. They were still fighting, more than a year later, though gods knows what over.  “I have.”

Gaeta twisted in his (new) rack and attempted to sit up. Ugh he was hungover still. And it had been three days since the party where it had all gone to shit.

“When Commander Garner jumped the Pegasus into the Cylon trap and they launched their nukes.”

“What did Hoshi say?” Ishay asked.

Lee cast his mind back. “I believe it was ‘they’re launching nukes!’ In his defence, Garner was the kind of guy you had be direct with.”

Kelly was sat at the table polishing his boots. “Nah, I reckon Hoshi just saw an opportunity to yell at the frakker who relieved him from his beloved station.”

Obviously Racetrack hadn’t known this, because she said “Hoshi was relieved?!”

“Oh yes.”

“What the hell for?”

“I know this one” Narcho said, entering the duty locker and unzipping his flight jacket. He clocked Gaeta in the bunk “Still can’t get used to you sleeping there. You better not snore.”

“I’ll try not to.”

“Where is Louis anyway?”

Racetrack answered. “Took a shuttle to the McConnell a couple of days ago.”

“Back to Bo Cooper then for more of that coffee Starbuck’s always whining about” Lee said.

Gaeta caught Narcho’s eye, willing him to continue with the explanation. 

“Fine. After Buster and Shark’s raptor disappeared Garner was whipping everyone up about going after them, you know, jumping away from the fleet. Louis put a call through to Admiral Adama.”

Lee shrugged. “I know. I spoke to him. Garner and I both did.”

Narcho sat down at the table, picked up one of Kelly’s boots, pretending to spit on it and give it a polish. Kelly rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, but Garner didn’t tell him to make that call. Louis did it himself.”

Lee looked surprised. “Well, I did not know that. He told Garner he was just clearing a raptor to launch.”

Narcho smiled proudly. “Yeah well.”

Lee was impressed. “Thank you Mr Hoshi for your use of initiative and also insubordination. You may not have saved Buster and Shark, but you did your duty.”

“Garner was so pissed” Narcho went on. He marched into Louis’s duty locker and lectured him about being ‘part of a greater whole.’ If he’d had his toolbox I think the Commander would’ve hurled every goddam thing in it at his head.”

Everyone laughed. It was a complicated release of emotion because Garner had nearly got them all killed. But Garner was also dead now. And that wasn’t really his fault. That was maybe Admiral Adama’s.

“Hey Gaeta, I’ll tell you one thing I do know for sure about Louis,” Narcho added.

Gaeta bit. “What’s that?”

“He sure hates you.”

_Because of the party_

The party three days before had been because it had been Dee’s birthday. So yeah, Gaeta had ruined her birthday.

A crowd of them had started in Joe’s and the ambrosia had been flowing. Dee was delighted by every little thing. Lee had brought her a new bracelet that she insisted on dangling in front of every person at the party. Helo had got Hera to help with some gardening and presented Dee with some sort of flowering plant with bright orange flowers. Athena had sensibly got her a sun lamp so said plant didn’t (immediately) die (this was a ship with barely any windows after all.) Gaeta, after thoroughly scouting out the place first to make sure he was safe, returned to the soulless book drop and found a Sagittaron song book there. He learned one of the less religiously zealous folk songs and sang it whilst playing the piano. Dee burst into happy tears.

Afterwards Tigh and Hoshi came up to the piano to thank him and give him a drink.

“Your voice…” Hoshi managed. Despite himself, Gaeta thought. “You managed to make a Sagittaron song sound good.”

He smiled graciously. He’d been told on more than one occasion that he was blessed with an amazing gift. “Thank you. My parents wanted me to be a professional singer, but I liked science too much.”

“Thank the gods” Tigh said.

The lieutenant was engrossed in the songbook on the piano stand.

Gaeta closed the lid and looked up at him. “And were your parents proud when you decided to become ‘Mr Hoshi of the Pegasus?’ Mercury Class no less?”

Hoshi didn’t answer but closed the book and put it back. Gaeta immediately regretted asking, aware he’d said something wrong. In a way he got some sort of answer accidentally when he then said, “How did you know that was a Sagittaron song before you looked?”

“It’s funny what people don’t forget about the past.” Hoshi said, somewhat curtly. “Colonel, thanks for the drink.”

“Anytime.” He headed decisively back to the bar.

_Well that definitely felt levelled at you, somehow._

As soon as Hoshi was out of earshot Tigh growled “What is wrong with you?.”

A light went on in Gaeta’s head as his brain put two and two together. Finally. “Oh. I didn’t know.”

“Enrolled when he 16. Applied for that ‘special circumstances’ program the fleet has for kids who, well, kids whose special circumstance is their civilisation is frakked up on religious bullshit.”

Dee had explained to Gaeta a long time ago about Sagittaron views of the military. He didn’t really get it, was definitely annoyed about it given the current ‘we’re keeping the Cylons from murdering you’ circumstances, but it seemed to be something to do with nature, or what was ‘natural’- and metal, spaceflight and violence apparently weren’t.

_Or, being attracted to men._

On the one hand he was glad he knew the reason he was knocked back wasn’t that he was a _guy_ –

(an awkward crossed wire about his new rack with Racetrack had cleared that up:

“Did Hoshi ever talk about whether he preferred Bucket or Beast racks?”

 “He did say something about two guys in one rack on Pegasus, both pushing six foot, was not that comfortable so...”

“...he did?”

“ Galactica's are definitely more roomy. Is your face doing that weird thing because you want me to tell you who is was?"

“This is just my normal face.”

“I think it was a one-off anyway, moon-eyes. After, you know, after Belzan was executed right in front of him. I believe there was some desperate drinking on everyone’s parts.”

No, it wasn’t that Gaeta was a guy. It was that he was Gaeta.

 

 

After Joe had thrown them out a smaller, drunker, bunch of them ended up in the observation deck, which Lee had somehow managed to wrangle for a private function. Considering it was usually easier to get in Admiral Adama’s bathroom than in the only part of the ship with a viewing window that was some mean feat. Gaeta was pretty certain Lee had abused his official privileges as a former Commander to get it.

 

He knew he’d had too much to drink. He almost done the right thing and turned down the corridor back to the duty lockers after they’d left the hanger bar. But an unusually relaxed and happy Lee had slung an arm round him and dragged him onward with the merry band and before he knew it he was pressing his hands up against the observation deck glass and gawping at the universe outside.

Tigh was sat leaning up against the wall next to him, his lanky frame sprawled out, his vests showing through his open fatigues. It was a measure of just how much booze had been drunk that even Tigh was intoxicated. CIC was going to be interesting in the morning.

“Tell me Mr Gaeta if this was true for you, but one of the things I couldn’t ever get used to back on New Caprica was the stars staying the same night after night.”

Gaeta nodded. “Yes sir. I know what you mean.”

“Course, couldn’t see ‘em from the detention centre. And then when I was out...” he touched his patch “not so easy after.”

Gaeta looked over at him apologetically. “I still so sorry sir, that I couldn’t…”

“Ah, forget it” Tigh laughed lightly. “You got us the transmission codes. You got us the police ceremony schedules. You nearly got us that gods damn frakker of a president…you did enough, son.”

Gaeta felt something enormous unclench inside him and he had to press his forehead up against the glass to steady himself.

“Did you ever wish you were one of the ones who jumped anyway?”

Tigh looked up at him. “Every godsdamn day Mr Gaeta. Should never’ve left Galactica. I love this ship and I love Ellen, gods rest her soul. But I go down with the ship. I’m fleet.”

 

Gaeta searched his muddled mind to remember where he’d heard that phrase before, but before he could dredge it up a small crowd of people came carousing over to join them.

“Stop hogging the window!” Dee demanded “It’s my birthday and I demand the universe all to myself.”

Everyone laughed, and a bottle of scotch was put into his hands. He took a swig and handed it to Tigh, who wiped the neck on his cuff and then downed a hearty measure. Then he reached out and latched onto Gaeta’s arm and hauled himself up. “Speech time. Speeches. Dualla, which poet do you want of all humanity has left to offer?”

Dee gave him a bright smile “You colonel. You.”

Tigh nodded, pleased as punch and handed the bottle over to Hoshi, who’d appeared from somewhere. Gaeta didn’t realise he’d come along too, but it made sense: He and Dee had worked side-by-side on the Pegasus for a long time. He was slightly surprised to see him take a swig from the bottle, remembering Starbuck pointing out the lieutenant wasn’t much of a drinker. But then again having things to celebrate were so rare, why not? Gaeta hoped he was enjoying himself.

“Short and sweet: ladies and gentlemen of Galactica, friends, colleagues, furniture, stars, it’s been a long time coming but we’re back together.”

Cheers all round as Tigh rested a friendly arm around Gaeta’s shoulder. “But what do I know? I’m just a one-eyed XO.  What we need is a communications expert, and since Mr Hoshi over there is a man of few words…”

“What? Not true!” Dee interjected playfully. “Why I heard him say plenty back in the Pegasus CIC after Galactica jumped back to rescue you all and we were left to guard the fleet.”

“Like what?” someone asked.

“Well, maybe not say _out loud_ but he can communicate if he wants to.”

Dee turned and grinned at Hoshi, knowing she was about to embarrass him and pre-emptively trying to apologise. “Like unnecessarily reminding Lee just how much firepower a Mercury class Battlestar has. Like leaving lists of full viper and raptor squadrons on his desk because maybe Lee had forgotten all the escorts just sitting in the hanger bay doing nothing. Like, oh I don’t know, pre-emptively plotting a course back to New Caprica just in case the commander decided he needed it?”

Gaeta was pleased to see Hoshi had turned an unflattering shade of pink and was attempting to shrug off all the affectionate man-handling/ambrosia-plying/back-slapping with no real success. Helo seemed to be attempting to turn his head so he could nuzzle him.

 _The thing with Galactica people_ _is that when they want something they go for it. Even if_ it _is embarrassed about all the attention it is getting._

Gaeta, full of too much alcohol and affection and a renewed sense of belonging, decided he should say this out loud. He commandeered the bottle of scotch and held it up high. “Well I’m technically comms too, so I’ll give the speech. A toast! To Mr Hoshi of the Pegasus.”

“Of Galactica” Hoshi said suddenly.

Gaeta hadn’t quite heard him over the crowd, so he moved through the huddle to be near enough. Hoshi untangled himself from Helo’s arm.

“What?” Gaeta asked, tapping his ear “I didn’t hear that?”

Hoshi spoke up, loud enough so that everyone could hear. “I’m an officer on Galactica” he said pointedly. “Just like you.”

Gaeta wasn’t sure why this was being clarified, but he shrugged and smiled back at the lieutenant. He playfully prodded his shoulder patch.

_Gods who comes to a birthday party in his blues anyways? Though he does look good in them. He looks serious. He’s looking serious now. Why is he looking so serious now…?_

He was vaguely aware that his addled brain was asking things with a level of fondness that his sober brain would be muttering squish squish too, but he was too drunk to stop it.

“Yeah but you’re Mr Hoshi of the Pegasus! I should know. You were my counterpart on comms for long enough. Remember when you were going to blow us out of the sky? ‘Pegasus, this is Galactica, come in. Galactica, this is Pegasus, come in…”

Hoshi’s face was doing something that Gaeta found hard to interpret. He fell back on trusted dichotomies:

_amusement/dissent? No. This was something else... oh, this might be…oh…._

Warning lights started to go off in his head.

He was vaguely aware of someone tugging on his arm- Dee, trying to…what? Draw his attention to something? Interrupt him so he stopped talking? Also, it was quieter than a moment before. Too late he realised it was because normally reticent Lieutenant Hoshi was speaking, and that was kind of new, so everyone wanted to listen. And something else that was new was that Hoshi was angry.

“A lot of the folk around you _were_ Pegasus crew to start with. But we’re Galactica crew now. And yes, my patch says Pegasus, but you know what? After nearly _two years_ of fleeing and fighting together, of relief when someone you know and care about makes it back to the ship, and searing pain when you have to watch that light blink out in front of you _because they just died,_ well now it feels like home.

So having someone constantly reminding you that it isn’t actually _your_ home and _you’re_ just an incidental transfer from somewhere else, well…”

He stared Gaeta in the eye. Not at all like an innocent endearing baby deer you’d want to go frolicking in the forest with. Very much like an intimidating and pissed off stag that was about to rise up and trample you into the forest floor. And then gallop off without even looking back. In the beat before Hoshi finished his condemnation Gaeta suddenly realised the magnitude of how awful this was going to be. Possibly forever from now on. 

“Well… it’s frakking uncalled for. _‘You’re a Pegasus man so I’m assuming you’re highly diligent’/ ‘Oh, I know a lot of things about you, Mr Hoshi of the Pegasus._ ’ ‘ _You’re not proper Pegasus like Lieutenant Hoshi here.’”_

With a sick feeling in his stomach Gaeta recognised his own words flung back at him. He heard Dee say quietly “Felix, you didn’t say those things, did you?”

But before he could attempt to salvage anything Racetrack was chipping in, also drunk, also annoyed. Also a former Pegasus officer. Gods Gaeta hadn’t even realised she was here as well. “Yeah I agree with Louis cos you do say stuff like that all the time!”

Lee tried to defuse the situation. “Guys, guys, it’s Dee’s birthday so come on. Like Tigh says, we’re together now and…”

Hoshi interrupted loudly, which, _when the hells did he ever interrupt his former commander?_ “But we’re not, are we? Not for him. For Lieutenant Gaeta, so very obsessed with who’s an ‘us’ and who’s a ‘them,’ we’re not. First it was Galactica vs Pegasus. Then it was settlers vs fleet people, then it was survivors vs those who ran away, and now he’s back to clinging onto the nostalgia that is old Galactica crew vs everyone else. Hell, that was what the whole nonsense about getting Captain Thrace some coffee was. Cos then she’d be your friend again, the old crew back together, just like the good old days!”

That shut Lee up.

Which probably meant it was maybe true.

Also, Gaeta was aware nobody else had stepped forward to defend him.

Yup. Definitely true then.

He decided to go for broke and raised his voice. Okay so now he was pretty much shouting.

“Way to ruin Dee’s Birthday Hoshi! Why don’t you just crawl back to _my former bunk_ and, what was it Garner said, “think about being part of the greater whole?!”

Hoshi threw him a disgusted (and devastating) glare. “Really?!”

“Yeah. Or at least get a godsdamn new jacket if you want people to accept you. Frakkin hell.”

“Frak you Felix,” Hoshi replied and left.

Nobody said anything for what Gaeta estimated was 2000 years. Then Colonel Tigh took the bottle out of his hands, uncorked it and drained it.

“Well colonel, I guess…”

“Nice job frakking breaking it, Mr Gaeta” came the response, and then Gaeta was left to watch the XO head over to talk to apparently anyone else in the observation deck but him.

Dee looked at him with eyes full of pity.

“Happy birthday Dee” he grinned wolfishly, wishing for all the worlds that the one proper window Galactica had would cave in and suck them all out into the black.

 

 

 

TEN

And now it was Colonial Day- a day of unity- and all his bunting was in a tangle. 

It had been over a month. And it had been absolutely fine. The CIC had run as clockwork as it ever did. Because they were all professionals. And they were in a war. And the small stuff, the whims and scuffles everyone had from time to time, well they didn’t matter.

Everyone did their jobs.

Everything was fine.

Gaeta thought about what Hoshi had once told him: _‘sometimes what doesn’t need to be said should be said anyway.’_ Well he’d learned that sometimes what needed to be said was nothing, so everyone just got on with doing that.

“Felix, give me the bunting, it’s getting ridiculous” Dee moaned, reaching over and taking it from him. “Maybe you should just go find something to wear tonight. I for one shall be sporting a lovely lilac dress- so don’t show me up and come in the same outfit.”

He laughed and threw the rest of the little coloured triangles that hadn’t yet been attached at her in a flurry. “Actually Dee, I don’t think I can go, so don’t worry.”

“What?” she said, crestfallen “But you’re the best dancer! Who am I going to dance with?”

“Your husband?”

She grew quiet, suddenly solemn. Gaeta realised he’d said the wrong thing.

“Dee? Are things ok with you and Lee?”

“After the boxing? Where he and Starbuck ‘worked out their issues?’ Oh yeah. Things are great.”

He wrapped his arm around her and hugged her tightly. “Don’t be sad, little lady. It’ll be fine.”

She sighed and played with his dog tags. “Well I won’t be sad if you come to Colonial Day with me.”

“I said I would cover Yarrow’s shift in the CIC.”

“Because she has the flu.”

Gaeta nodded.

“Ha!” she suddenly declared. “Yarrow _had_ the flu but Doc Cottle gave her the all clear yesterday. “You’re just looking for an excuse.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

Gaeta groaned. He became serious for a moment. “Honestly Dee, I just feel…I just don’t want to make anyone feel…”

Dee gathered up the bunting and carried it over to the work surface. She turned, folded her arms and said softly “Okay. I’m your friend and gods knows I’ve wanted a time-out from this crew on more than one occasion. So if the thought of crowds of people having a lovely time just doesn’t do it for you anymore, fine.”

He nodded, grateful.

“But I will add, just in case this is pertinent- and only because I dealt with the shuttle departure schedules myself earlier this week- I will add, that certain members of the crew won’t be there. Because they’re currently on the McConnell.”

Gaeta took a moment to let the new information sink in, to monitor what kind of emotional reaction would come to the fore. He was surprised and pleased that he still felt exactly the same. 

“Wow” he muttered.

“Wow?”

“Sorry, didn’t know I said that out loud. It’s just…” he came over to where she was standing and dumped the rest of the crafting bits and bobs on the table “I feel okay about that. I still don’t want to go, and it has nothing to do with the Hoshi stuff. DRADIS registering no feelings whatsoever.”

“Ah,” Dee said, “that’s an improvement.”

“I know.” He frowned. “I guess, since I seem to have got over it so quickly, maybe I didn’t care that much after all. Wow indeed.”

_Yeah, quite the philosopher_

“I mean, I care that I was a dick, but there’s nothing I can do about that.”

Dee grinned “Exactly. So maybe you should come then, you might meet a date!”

 

 

 

ELEVEN

They compromised, and Gaeta went for a little while, but didn’t touch a drop of booze. He danced with Dee, and then, because he was back to mending fences that were willing to be mended ( _“You were a dick in the Observation Deck, you need to make it up to me” “I know Racetrack. I’m sorry.”)_ he danced with Racetrack, who was wearing a green and beige dress Gaeta swore was the same colour as her ship, and who it turned out, was also an accomplished mover.

“I didn’t realise you’d be such a great dancing partner” he complimented her.

She rolled her eyes. “Haven’t you ever seen me pilot a Raptor?”

After that he made some chitchat with the Admiral about navigation charts, until the Admiral point blank ordered him to stop talking about work. Gaeta spent a while looking for Helo until someone told him he was acting Officer of The Deck, and then he’d spent a while looking for Tigh instead, assuming he was here if Helo was in CIC, but someone else told him the Commander was off-ship at a memorial service.

He even held down a conversation with Narcho, who was wearing a suit and had done something to his hair to make it stick up, and who turned out to be an alright kind of guy. Before Gaeta had realised it they’d been talking about thermal imaging tech for half an hour straight: Gaeta because he’d written his final dissertation at the academy about its potential in augmenting DRADIS systems, Narcho because his aunt had run some high-tech personal security firm back on Pikon.  

Gaeta had also managed to surprise himself by ending up having a potentially fruitful conversation with Keay, a tall marine with blue eyes and an easy smile. After what seemed like some light-hearted banter and discovery of shared interests Gaeta put a quiet pin in it and said goodnight to everyone.

 

He returned to the duty lockers, undressed and climbed into his rack. There were hardly any other sleepers in the room, since everyone was out celebrating or on duty, and Gaeta revelled in the quiet. He reached for the book he’d taken from the book drop earlier that week (unfortunately there didn’t seem to be any official method of checking anything out like in a real library.)

It was an ok sort of story. The protagonist was a kid who lived on a small island in an archipelago and he seemed to spend most of his time neglecting the goats he was supposed to be herding, but that was because he had discovered he could control the weather, and now he was trying to decide between staying on the island with the goats or sailing to the large central island which had a school of magic at its centre. Gaeta knew the kid was going to go, but he himself wondered if a life of goats was actually no bad thing.

He read a few more chapters, turned down the corner and placed the book on the shelf and flicked off the light. The privacy curtains did their jobs and the almost complete darkness enveloped him. Moments later he had a word with himself, switched the light back on and unfolded the page corner, using a pencil as a bookmark where he was up to instead.

_This is probably the last copy of this book in the universe, after all, you idiot._

He fell fast asleep, happy.

He came too, hours later, deep into the early hours of the morning, with the sound of the curtain being tugged back and someone saying his name.

“Huh?” In the dark he couldn’t see much, and he was still mostly asleep anyway. He opened his eyes and thought he recognised the face in the sliver of low light ghosting into the space. “Hoshi?”

Hoshi just seemed to be staring at him for a moment, as if he wasn’t sure why Gaeta was there. Then there was a hand on the ball of his bare shoulder. And soft warmth pressing against his mouth.

He was being kissed.

Gaeta figured he was still asleep. But then the shock of rasping stubble scraping across his jaw tugged him back to wakefulness. He groaned and tried to get some words out.

“Did you forget we switched racks?”

_Okay well that’s a non sequitur. Wake up properly, dumbass._

He reached for the work light, but Hoshi’s hand encased his and led it away from the switch. Then he kissed him again, this time leaning right into the bunk, shifting so more than their hands were touching. Gaeta lost a lot of time and when he finally came round he was thoroughly confused and turned on, which he knew from experience was a perilous combination.

“Wait, wait.” He pushed on the other man’s chest, easing himself out from under him and finally managing to get the light on.

Hoshi looked a mess.

And not just a mouth-all-swollen-from-kissing mess. His eyes were red, and his hair was unkempt. He clearly hadn’t seen a bar of soap or a razor for days and his skin was sickly pale. Something was very wrong.

Gaeta’s DRADIS registered _all sorts_ of feelings.

 

He took his time looking. Hoshi seemed too tired to even register the scrutiny- he passively waited, fixed in this awkward position half in and half out of a rack in the middle of the night. Gaeta was dimly aware they were still holding hands. He let go.

He spoke gently and slowly: “Lieutenant, what happened to you?”

Hoshi leaned in again, but this time Gaeta caught him and rolled him carefully but directly completely into the rack. Hoshi didn’t seem to fight it at all, allowing himself to be manoeuvred like a person completely out of it. His brown eyes were still on Gaeta, still luminous, but somehow empty too. Something was really wrong.

_You’re a godsdamn tactical officer Felix. Godsdamn figure this out- and quickly._

He untangled himself from the bedding and shuffled to the other end of the rack, folding his legs up under him and turning so he could see Hoshi properly. “Dee told me you’d gone to the McConnell?”

 _A nod._ _Looks neutral but isn’t. Maybe it’s a door. A very small door that Gaeta could maybe open, if he was careful enough._

“Didn’t feel like celebrating Colonial Day with everyone else?”

“No.”

_Well, there’s that._

He thought about the stubble, the pallor, the sadness radiating out of the guy. “Maybe…didn’t feel like celebrating anything at all?”

A barely there shake of the head.

_Meaning keep going._

“Who’s on the McConnell, apart from Bo Cooper, obviously?”

_Nothing for that._

“Unless…unless that’s who you went to see…”

A complicated emotion passed across Hoshi’s face, which Gaeta couldn’t parse. But there was pain in it, definitely. Gaeta suddenly found something he hated as much as the Cylons.

He took a deep, calming breath. “You don’t have to talk. You don’t normally talk that much anyway- and I like that about you. I mean, I also like it when you talk to me, over comms, or…even it’s a yelling flavour of talking, but yeah, no, at the moment you don’t have to say anything so…

_For gods sake stop talking Felix_

So listen. You look kind of crappy. Your stubble’s done something to my face that’s gonna itch like hell in the morning when I’m on duty. So go to sleep. Sleep, and when you wake up whatever it is will hopefully be slightly less horrible than it is right now. Okay? Sleep.”

Hoshi blinked, then seemed to finally regain some control over his own body because he began to move.

Gaeta nudged him back down. “No. Stay here. You’re bingo fuel. You need somewhere familiar and this used to be your space. Familiar is good.”

And before his brain could provide commentary on any of that he clambered out of the rack instead and perched on the lip, taking a moment to gaze out into the shared area, let the coolness touch him. Everyone else was asleep, lulled by the omnipresent hum of the air conditioning throughout the ship. When Gaeta had first served on a Battlestar this noise had kept him awake for days- on New Caprica without it he’d had insomnia for weeks.  By his feet he saw Hoshi’s duffle.

_He came straight here from the shuttle. He maybe did forget you switched._

 

He turned back to the rack- Hoshi had burrowed down into the bed, his eyes already closed. Gaeta suddenly noticed he was wearing civvies: a creased white shirt and dark tie, trousers, ordinary leather shoes. A titbit of information he’d heard earlier ghosted through his memory: _Tigh was at a memorial service._ What’s the betting that was on the McConnell? He unlaced the shoes and put them next to the duffle, weighed up his nerve and then finally decided to carefully loosen the tie, ghosting his fingers around the back of Hoshi’s neck and easing it over his head. The sleeping lieutenant didn’t react at all.

At the last moment Gaeta decided to take the book about the goat herder with him. Whether it was because he thought he might not be able to get back to sleep in his former rack, or because he worried what Hoshi might make of his choice of reading material, he wasn’t sure.

As he turned off the work light and went to leave he almost missed the words- they were so quiet.

“You’re familiar. To me.”

 


	3. PART THREE

TWELVE

There were a lot of things Gaeta could’ve done next.

He could’ve worked his shift in the CIC and then the moment it was over go to the duty lockers to find Hoshi.

Or he could’ve gone over to his table at lunch and sat down next to him.

Or he could’ve waited outside the CIC until Hoshi had finished _his_ shift.

He could even have turned up in the rec room with a backgammon board under his arm, and they could just play, no need to talk at all.

 

Instead Gaeta knocked on Tigh’s door. When the Colonel answered Gaeta handed him a bottle of unopened scotch.

“What’s this for?”

“Information.”

“Not interested.”

“You sure about that Colonel?” Gaeta turned the bottle round so he could see the label.

“So what. The good stuff is wasted on me.”

“This is a very special bottle. It’s the bottle President Gaius was saving for a special occasion.”

“Former frakking president….”Tigh growled, but Gaeta could tell he was hooked.

“Wouldn’t you just love to drink something he was saving for himself?”

“You bet I frakking would” Tigh declared, swooping it from Gaeta’s outstretched hands.

Gaeta followed him into the room. It was back to its slightly dishevelled sparsity- all traces of Ellen Tigh gone or at least tidied away. Tigh dragged out a chair and jabbed a finger at it.

“Sit. Talk.”

“Drink?”

Tigh guffawed. “This? Oh no. This is ALL mine.”

“Fair enough.” Gaeta sat down, took a breath, asked what he’d come to ask.  “The memorial service on Colonial Day- was it on the McConnell?”

“It was. I went to see an old friend.”

“What kind of friend?”

Tigh’s eyebrow’s went up at the accidental implication. “I may be a widower, but I’m still married. Not that it’s any of your business.”

_Ok you could’ve phrased that better, Felix. Get your head in the game._

“Sorry. I meant…if you don’t mind me asking, who was it?”

“Someone from the resistance back when.”

“And they died?”

Tigh folded his arms. Gaeta knew he was pushing it, delving into the personal life of his superior officer- and being on shaky territory when it came to who was ‘proper’ resistance and who wasn’t back on New Caprica. But he was also relying on some residual good feeling from their chat by the Observation deck window (and also on Tigh having forgotten what happened next with the speeches…)

“No he did not frakking die, Mr Gaeta. Man like Coop doesn’t survive the devastation of the colonies, Admiral Cain, Commander frakking Fisk, Commander frakking Garner and Cylon occupation just to keel over one day whilst having a cup of tea.”

Gaeta was disappointed. He really thought his hunch about this being about Bo Cooper was right.

Tigh turned on the offensive. “You thought he had, though, didn’t you? Can tell by your face. How come?”

“I had a drink with Romo Lampkin.”

“That son of a bitch” Tigh growled through gritted teeth. “Thought you of all people would give him a wide berth.”

Gaeta raised his hands. “Hey, I have reason to dislike Gaius Baltar more than almost anyone on this ship.” He pointed to the whisky. “Do you know how many times I nearly poured that down the toilet?”

Tigh wrapped his fingers around it protectively. “Well thanks the gods you didn’t. Although frak knows what possessed you to pick it up in the evacuation.”

“I don’t hate Lampkin. I believe in justice. A fair trial.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit. You lied on the stand.”

“Yeah, well, like I said, justice.”

Gaeta then dropped his gaze, penitent. “I think for a while I forgot what justice was, though. I regret the perjury now.”

“Spoken like a man nearly sent of a viper tube by a kangaroo court.”

Gaeta nodded sincerely. “Exactly. New Caprica damaged us all in different ways. The ones who stayed- and the ones who left. I’m only gradually realising that. And trying to do something about it. Since I am more culpable than most for not making this ship as united as it could be.”

Tigh took a long time to respond. When he did it wasn’t with words. He went over to his locker and brought back an open bottle.

“You still don’t get the special stuff. That’s just for me. But…” he poured two glasses and they clinked them together in a new comradeship forged from pain and survival and hard-earned self-awareness of what kind of men they were and would like to be and how big that gulf might be.

Gaeta suddenly remembered what Tigh had had to do to his own wife. He topped up the Colonel’s glass. “Thank you for saving us Colonel.”

“Yeah, well the Old Man did most of the legwork, Lieutenant. Now. Are you gonna spit out what information it is you require to get back into Lieutenant Hoshi’s good books- or pants- although knowing how you spectacularly frakked that up at Dee’s birthday I’d aim for the books first.  Pick your battles said the old soldier.”

Ah. Speeches remembered. Gaeta hoped he wasn’t blushing. And if he was that it wasn’t from shame.

_Although of course that would be about right._

“Lampkin’s got a dog” he said, pressing on regardless.

The eyebrow went up again. “Has he now?”

“A collie. Bo Cooper’s old dog. That’s why I thought something had happened to him.”

Tigh shook his head. “Not Bo’s dog. Harlin’s dog.” He looked into his glass, for a moment clearly feeling something painful. “Well, a dog needs a home.”

Gaeta didn’t want to ask, but Tigh told him anyway.

“Stupid really. She got an infection. Thought she was ok but then she had an allergic reaction to the drugs she was given. Pretty rare, Doc Coddle said. But it happens. One minute she was up and teaching her students the ins and outs of the biological signs of life…and then she was gone. Coop’s taken it pretty hard.”

“Was she his only family?”

“Yep.”

Gaeta couldn’t imagine. It was true that he’d lost his family in the attacks, but he’d already been in the military for seven years by then, and bar the occasional shore leave and holidays hadn’t been in regular contact. His crew was his family. He thought about Starbuck’s face as she lifted her Top Gun tankard and recited the names of all the pilots she had lost.

A different thought began floating around his head, trying to draw his attention. Something that wanted him to engage with it.

“Wait. Cooper said the dog was her seeing-eye dog, so she was blind?”

“Yup. Didn’t stop her getting a PHD in bio-engineering though.”

Gaeta reached around for another thought that he tried to connect with this new information. “and you just implied Cooper was from the Pegasus. It follows she was too. But he’s not military per sae.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve met him. You can tell. Like Laird isn’t military.”

“You’re a smart cookie Mr Gaeta. So go on, keep going.”

“So…I think Cooper, no I think both of them were in the civilian fleet that the Pegasus picked up. Cooper’s a weapons and demolitions man by training- private industry. He built all those detonators the Chief and Sam were blowing things up with.”

Tigh looked impressed.

“Yeah, I knew.”

“Wondered why there were so many toasters in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“You’re welcome. So… Cain would’ve snapped Cooper up. But biology? A Battlestar at war on the hunt doesn’t need someone who knows about.. trees and frogs and…I don’t know….”

“Actually Harlin was an expert on the acoustic-based technological applications of marine life” Tigh said, raising his glass as if she was there with them. “Whale song and all that. She once explained to me why some shells curled one way and others curled another. Frak if I can remember now, but it was a beautiful reason.” He downed his drink, morose.

Gaeta just didn’t get it. He’d met Admiral Cain. There was not a sympathetic bone in her body. Even if Bo Cooper had begged- well, thanks to Laird Gaeta knew how ineffective that strategy had turned out to be for securing family members…

“You want some help, Mr Gaeta?” Tigh asked, smiling wryly and standing up? “I’ll throw you a bone before I throw you out of my quarters: Aerilon coffee costs 300 cubits a bag. Doesn’t matter if you’re a tylium rock sifter or an Admiral- that’s the price ever motherfrakker pays. Well, almost everyone.”

And then Gaeta was wheeled out and found himself back into the corridor and the general slipstream of another day on Galactica. 

 

THIRTEEN

He lay in his bunk and thought about how he would’ve done it.

_Fisk had been running those lists, with that Razor, whose name he couldn’t now remember, the one who’d died nuking the creepy Cylon science lab, so, I can’t just go and collect someone from a civilian ship and bring them aboard. No. I’d have to fix it at an earlier stage._

_But Admiral Cain had been such a control freak she was bound to examine all the crew lists, so she could cherry pick who she wanted._

Gaeta (somewhat reluctantly) put himself in the dead Admiral’s shoes. _How would I go about assembling those lists?_

_I would ask someone I trusted. Someone loyal who’d worked with me for a long time._

_In the background._

Acknowledging that he wasn’t going to get any sleep until he’d got an answer, Gaeta got up, pulled on some clothes and headed for the archives, swinging by the mess first for some tea. As he waited for the Pegasus personnel files to boot up he went back to his thought experiment, put himself in Hoshi’s shoes this time.

_So. So I’ve been sent over to the civilian ships and I’m asking everyone what they do, and I’m writing it down and thinking, thinking, thinking how I can get more people on the list. The kids… I can’t help the kids. But… But all the while the clock is ticking, and Fisk is right over there, so…_

_So I’ve got a demolitions specialist and I’m going to put him on the list. But he has a daughter who not only is a marine biologist but is also blind._

_Okay- well… two problems. Deal with them one at a time._

_Problem one: whales._

He closed his eyes and let his mind drift, just like he was actually floating in the ocean. Gods but he hadn’t seen the sea for years. He tried to remember what it felt like to be buoyant, to be held bobbing in the water, gazing up at the vast expanse of sky, acutely aware of the vast expanse of sea underneath you. He tried to recall the sound of seagulls, the lapping of water. He thought about those enormous gentle giants swimming far below him, their great mouths filtering plankton, their hearts full of the strangest songs.

A small beep from the terminal informed him the data was ready. He opened his eyes and clicked through the records until Harlin Cooper’s was in front of him.

 

_Harlin Cooper  28 F_

_Transfer from MERWIN (civilian fleet)_

_Qualification:  Aquatic Bio-engineer_

_Specialism: saline filtration systems_

_Status: ESSENTIAL PERSONNEL_

You clever son of a bitch.

Water is an essential system.

 

Gaeta read the information over once more, letting the life-changing consequences of those few words sink in. Then he realised two important things: Harlin Cooper couldn’t see a single drop of water so the mystery of how her blindness was concealed remained. And also, Lieutenant Hoshi was clearly a Big Godsdamn Hero.

 

 

FOURTEEN

When his day off came up Gaeta headed back to the McConnell. He wondered if maybe this was going to prove a wasted trip, that Bo Cooper had shut up shop, but no, he was still open for business.

He was surprised to be greeted by the dog and for a moment wondered if there was more than one collie in the fleet, but then he spied Romo Lampkin in the corner, unhurriedly leafing through an old leather-bound book. A customer perhaps? Or maybe these guys were friends too. Lampkin had kept his head down during the occupation, so Gaeta didn’t really know what he’d done during those long months, but then the lawyer was one of the most enigmatic people he’d ever met. If Gaeta hadn’t known what he was up to then it was because Lampkin hadn’t wanted him to know.

“Mr Gaeta, welcome back” came Cooper’s warm baritone.

“Thanks for seeing me.” He looked for somewhere to sit, ended up on the leather sofa next to the lawyer. The dog came for her petting and Gaeta obliged. “You are hard to resist, pooch” he sighed, ruffling her long black and white fur. She gave a pleasant growl and flopped down on his feet.

“Eats way more than a cat” Lampkin said, not looking up from the tome. “Lee did not mention that.”

“Perhaps Mr Adama figured the best legal mind in the fleet would figure that out on his own” Cooper noted.  “Now, Mr Gaeta, are you back to protest my prices?”

Gaeta raised his hands. “No sir. Absolutely not. I accept that you know the worth of things much better than I do. And also, this isn’t about coffee.”

“Okay then.”

“But first, can I just say, I am really sorry to hear about your daughter. Colonel Tigh was singing her praises and, um, well, he doesn’t really ever do that, so…”

Cooper breathed deeply and didn’t say anything for a while. Then he called the dog over to him and she went happily, nuzzling his outstretched hand. He ran his hands through her fur like Gaeta had, a moment before- except it was a necessary thing, a brief attempt to stay grounded, to not break. Grief in a man such as Bo Cooper was a terrible thing to behold and Gaeta sat humbled in its presence. Eventually Cooper shooed the dog away and sat back in his chair. “You don’t have to be at war to have casualties, Mr Gaeta.”

“No sir.”

“So, if it isn’t coffee what is it that brings you to my table?”

The old Gaeta- the Gaeta before the philosopher- would’ve been here for one reason only: because he was following his heart. All his life Gaeta had generally had that as his compass. He loved science, so he studied hard to get into university. He loved space, so he trained, and he proved that he was military material and it got him on the fleet- got him on the Galactica, which was something else he also loved. He’d asked for that commission- very few people knew that he’d actually been offered a post on a Valkyrie class ship.

The heart-following Gaeta had followed Lieutenant Hoshi down the corridors and deck floors to the book drop. Would’ve had him come here and ask Cooper for the correct words to say to make it right with him.

Instead he asked him for upholstery.

“You want to buy what?”

“Upholstery. You know, for…seats.”

Romo Lampkin made a show of closing his book.

Bo Cooper stood up from his desk and walked around the room, because apparently this kind of request required pacing.

“Has the CIC on Galactica been operating without them all this time? If so, I think perhaps even more praise should be lavished on Admiral Adama for rescuing us whilst being stood up for four months.”

Lampkin was smirking. Gaeta smiled too.

“No, it’s just some of the Raptor seats need replacing, and it’s a specialist kind of material, like a leather. The Chief doesn’t have any, so I thought, hey, who do I know who might?”

“Leather.”

“I think so.”

“Doesn’t it have to be…” Cooper reached for the right term “flame retardant or some such like? In case there’s a fire onboard?”

“the deck crew have a special coating they dowse everything with, so don’t worry about that. It’s just the fabric. Leather comes from cows and, well, last time I checked none of them made it off the 12 colonies.”

Cooper laughed and stroked his long moustache. “Well Lieutenant, I am willing to admit that of late I have lost any interest in my work. There is of course no reason to explain why. Life is what it is. Even out here. But… but sometimes even in grief a quest can call upon a man. And here you bring me one. Can I find you your heart’s desire…?

_Not heart’s desire. Ignoring heart, following head from now on. Head’s desire._

and if so, how great will be my reward?”

“Whatever you like. So, is that a yes?”

Lampkin answered for him. “It’s a yes. He’ll find you your upholstery. But if I know Coop, expect the price to be…. irregular.”

Gaeta stood up and thrust out his hand. “Fine by me.”

“Very well,” said Bo Cooper, grasping Gaeta’s hand and giving it a shake. “I’ll contact you when I have an idea.”

Gaeta patted the dog one final time, nodded to Lampkin and headed for the door.

Cooper had a final question for him: “We live in interesting times when upholstery acquisition is a tactical officer’s purview?”

Lampkin answered for him: “I suspect the material is immaterial, and we shall discover that it is the gesture that is the real substance.”

Gaeta remembered how much lawyers annoyed him.

 

 

FIFTEEN

“What the frak is this?” Starbuck moaned, taking another sip of the gloopy red drink.

Gaeta grimaced “I got Joe to teach me his best hangover cure. You do NOT want to know what’s in it.”

“Don’t care as long as it works” she replied, taking another slug.

 

 

 

Narcho got addicted to the goat herder story and was apoplectic with frustration when he found out there was not one or two but three other books in the series. Gaeta seriously thought about renewing his faith in the Lords of Kobol when he found them all in the book drop.

 

 

 

Gaeta stood flanked by a dozen small children. Two of them were clutching each of his hands. He was wearing a flower pot on his head.

Life on the run from the Cylons had taken a strange turn.

He opened his mouth and began to sing: “Little darling, it’s been a long cold lonely winter/ little darling, it feels like years since it’s been here…”

A chorus of voices bellowed behind him:

“Here comes the sun! here comes the sun! and I say…”

The front row of parents looked on adoringly. Laura Roslin was wiping her eyes already- ever the teacher. Gaeta felt ridiculous and elated and too tall and very proud all at once.

Irregular payment indeed.

 

After the concert the president came over and gave him an enormous hug. Gaeta still never quite understood why, or more pertinently how she did this, but it seemed as though even though he had been Gaius’s assistant on New Caprica, Laura Roslin had no problem in embracing him anyways.

He got an image of her name on that death list.

He took the opportunity to hold onto her for just a second longer.

“Gaeta, that was so lovely!” she beamed. “And what a way to discover such a beautiful voice!”

“Thank you madam president.”

“I really must insist that you come back for future performances. The children have become quite smitten.”

She gestured behind her and suddenly two youngsters stepped forward. Between them they were carrying an overly large handmade card, with a ridiculous crayon picture of Gaeta (whose hair was _not_ that curly…) standing on top of a Battleship, appearing to be riding it like a surf board. Falling off the Battleship holding hands were a moustached man and a man with an eyepatch. A lady and man, both with enormous ears, were heading headfirst for the bottom of the picture.

_Oh, dear god please let the Admiral never ever see this._

“The class have been learning about how a Battlestar runs.”

_From who??!_

Gaeta leaned down and addressed the children. “Thank you very much”

“Thank you for teaching us about singing” they chimed in almost-unison. Roslin shooed them away and took Gaeta’s arm. He’d seen her do that to the Admiral. It made Gaeta feel…welcome.

“Of course, I’m sure you’re needed on the Galactica though. I just wanted you to know if you ever fancy a career change…”

“It’s unlikely Madam President”

“It does happen, Felix. Just look at Mr Adama.”

Felix nodded. “Still. I’m fleet.”

“Yes, you are,” she replied. “And the fleet raptors apparently need some new seat coverings, so Colonial One is happy to oblige. I am sure that our quorum will manage on regular fabric for the future. Troy has had the materials loaded onto a raptor for you already.”

Gaeta smiled. “Thank you Madam President.”

She returned the smile. “For this evening’s treat, absolutely worth it.” She indicated Gaeta’s drawing: “And I trust that you’ll find somewhere prominent in the CIC for that, so the Admiral will see it.”

 

 

 

Racetrack was putty in his hands. She agreed to run a delivery for him on her day off- no problem.

“What is it we’re picking up?” she asked, nudging the raptor out of the hanger.

“Paint.”

 

 

 

 “Just put in on the walls Narcho” Dee said. “yours is not to question. Yours is to paint.”

 

 

 

 

“Why is it pink?”

“Just unpack the books Lee,” Dee said. “Yours is not to question, yours is to file,”

 

 

 

SIXTEEN

Gaeta had met some formidable characters in his life: his piano teacher when he was a kid, who would bang the lid shut in overly dramatic frustration to express just how little her pupil deserved to even touch the ivories- let alone tinkle them; the instructor who taught hostile-environment survival techniques at the academy and who’d threatened to make them practice doing things to each other’s ‘meat corpses’ that resulted in a whole intake of students unable to look each other in the eye for a whole term; and more recently he wasn’t afraid to admit that the Cylon model 3s honestly scared the shit out of him- even when they weren’t doing anything overtly hostile.

Gaeta was about to add the Assistant Quartermaster to the list.

It was partially his own fault- he hadn’t initially been paying attention to the person in front of him in the queue- who was asking for a nuclear warhead.

Oh wait, no- she was asking for some forks.

Gaeta had been thinking about the way a shell curled.

A box slid across the counter service. The kitchen orderly peered inside. “Uhm, sorry- these are spoons.”

“I know what they are.”

“Okay. It’s just- I was sent to requisition forks.”

“I don’t think you were.”

The woman faltered, obviously confused. Gaeta, who had been about to take his place at the front of the queue, took a sidestep so he could see better what was going on.

“Uhm, yes, I was. Dhanka sent me from the mess because you see we’re really short, and folk have to wait for the washing cycles and it causes a backlog so…”

The Assistant Quartermaster shook his head. “Requisition means formally request. You just thought you’d come down here and tell me you want some forks.”

“I was asking for forks, not telling…”

“Right, because it would be a strange fleet in which a kitchen orderly tells an enlisted officer something, wouldn’t it.”

Arms got folded. Gaeta swallowed. Orderly’s move.

She closed the flaps on the box but defiantly did not pick it up.

Ah…lines were being drawn…

“Why can’t we have forks- just out of interest?”

The AQ counted the two reasons off on his fingers. “Forks require more man-hours to construct than spoons. Forks mean the smiths have to stop making, oh, trivial items like Viper parts and tylium drill bits and medical screws and instead turn their attention to cutlery.”

Gaeta rolled his eyes. The kitchen orderly valiantly tried another tact: “I get that, I do, but I think a case could be made for forks to be essential too. I know they’re not flashy, but viper pilots, and miners and doctors and nurses need to eat. An army marches on its stomach, and all that?” she risked a friendly smile.

It went unacknowledged. Instead the Assistant Quartermaster pushed the box towards her. “Yep. And a spoon is fine for that.”

“But…”

“Take the box, or don’t take the box. That’s your choice today. You want forks, you want to _requisition_ forks, then you’ll need an official form.”

Gaeta thought for a moment that the guy was being helpful when he handed over a green piece of paper covered in text and boxes, but…

“This box is where the stamp goes. The stamp is a priority 3 stamp. Priority 3 goods are goods deemed essential to the war effort. Only an officer of the rank of Colonel or above can authorise a priority 3 stamp. No stamp- no requisition.”

The kitchen orderly turned to Gaeta for, what? Solidarity? Mutual outrage? Gaeta, knowing he was going to be running the gauntlet next, wisely refused to give any. She then looked at his rank pins and scowled. Lieutenant wasn’t going to cut it here anyway. She turned back to the counter, gawped at the man for a moment, then, in a totally understandable gesture, screwed up the form and threw it in the Assistant Quartermaster’s face.

Gaeta stepped forward, at the same time making a mental note to try to get to the canteen early for cutlery.

“Yes?”

“Who do I talk to about uniforms?”

The AQ gave an overly judgemental sigh. “What did you do?”

“Do?”

“Spill. Lean against, catch on, rip.”

“I didn’t…do any of those things.”

The other man ran his eyes dispassionately over the lieutenant, appraising the fit. “Well, you didn’t get fat, so that can’t be it.”

“Is it necessary to explain _why_ I need some new jackets?”

The AQ folded his arms, “Some…?”

Gaeta figured he’d lost already, but he wasn’t willing to give up, so he tried again. “Look, okay, so can you just tell me whether I’m even in the right place or not?”

“We stock Fleet uniforms yes.”

“Hypothetically, how many?”

The AQ refused to answer.

Gaeta took a punt. “I’m guessing there’s a requisition form?”

“You guessed correctly.” He slid over a pale blue form.

Gaeta folded it up and turned to go. The AQ’s voice followed him out. “One form per item request. On the correct depositing of the defective piece of clothing a new one will be issued. It’s a one in one out system.”

Gaeta turned on his heel. “So…if someone wanted, say….100 or so jackets….”

 

 

SEVENTEEN

Starbuck was smoking in his library. Sorry, the library.

“What are you doing here?” Gaeta asked, completely thrown. He couldn’t ever remember seeing her with a book- It just really wasn’t Starbuck’s style. Privately he suspected that the qualities that made her the best godsdamn pilot in the fleet slash maybe galaxy now (lightening quick reflexes, out-of-the-box thinking, mercurial instincts) meant she didn’t have the attention span for sitting quietly and passively letting someone else (the writer) be in charge of the events.

“Hey” she pretended to complain, “You should be thanking me for doing something about this frakking paint smell. When did you paint this? Like, a month ago? Also, pink? Weird choice.”

“A) Weird paint is free paint. Nobody quite knows how it ended up with us in the first place but now it’s been put to good use. And B) cigar smoke is hardly a more appealing smell.”

She grinned around the stogie, showing her teeth. “Matter of opinion. I dig the comfy chairs, though.”

He headed over to one of the shelves and started unloading the books in his arms.

“So. Tactical Officer, President’s Aide, double-agent, tactical officer again, Raptor pilot, children’s entertainer, librarian?”

Gaeta ignored her and continued putting the books away until she blew smoke rings in his face. He wafted them away.

“Seriously Starbuck, why are you here?” he asked lightly.

She shrugged.

He took a dangerous punt. “Hiding from Lee?”

She didn’t say anything.

_Well that was a lucky guess._

Starbuck flopped down in one of the seats Gaeta had rustled up from the observation deck. They were upholstered and although they were tatty then at least gave the space a semblance of welcoming you to stay for a while.

“A) This is a weird library. And B) None of your business.” 

_Ha. It’s a library now, not a book drop. Mission accomplished. Well, one of the missions_

“Want something to read then?”

She smirked. “I’m halfway through something already, thanks very much.”

Gaeta was curious. “What?”

Starbuck leaned over the arm of the chair and hauled the hardback oversized notebook that he’d got to use as a checking-out record into her lap.  Dee had suggested he use one of the old ‘visitors’ comments’ books back from when the secondary hanger had been the Galactica museum. At first Gaeta had resisted because it just seemed kind of mawkish- President Roslin (then education secretary Roslin) had literally been the only person to get to write in it before the attack _(‘A wonderful lesson for us all about the importance of finding the courage to pursue peace. LR’_ ) and Gaeta didn’t know whether the appropriate thing to do was honour that first page or tear it out. In the end he’d left it and put a neat label on the front indicating the book’s new function. He’d also taken the time to write some instructions in the book, for he wanted it to be more than just a record of who took what out and when- he’d marked a review column on each page, so people could say a little about the books they borrowed and maybe therefore encourage others to take them out as well. Narcho had gone a little nuts with the goat book.

Really, Gaeta had spent a long time thinking about how to make this library work.

 “And are you enjoying it?”

“I like this entry” she replied, beginning to read. _“It’s really strange to read about a guy who goes on a jungle safari when I can’t really remember what trees look like. Any trees. But hey, escapism right?”_

“Seems fair enough.”

_“Needs more crime fiction. I’ve read all of these already.”_

“Well that’s rude.”

Starbuck laughed and kept going _“This library is ace. Ever since I’ve knowed it was here I ask my mum if we can come every day. She says some days but not every day. Signed Kieran.”_

“He’s one of your viper pilots isn’t he?”

“Ha ha.” She flicked back and forth between the pages and Gaeta felt secretly very smug that the book was this full already. It seemed not everyone was content to just download stuff anymore. The traditional still had a place, even out here in the black. And also, there was something delightfully communal about people leaving comments for each other.

“ _After reading ‘Advanced Cobbler’s Techniques: eyelets, welts and cuffs’ I can with confidence say….”_

Gaeta did a double-take. “Frak off!”

_“..I can with confidence say that I know more about the methods of crafting these elements of footwear than I did before I came on board Galactica. The book itself contains informative diagrams and instructions, as well as providing insightful observations about changing shoe-making practices down the ages. I look forward to using this newly acquired knowledge and can only wistfully wish that the library also contained a copy of ‘Beginner’s Cobbler’s Techniques’ in order to augment my learning.”_

Gaeta was stunned.” Someone took that out?!”

Starbuck stared at him. “I think you’re missing the bigger point: someone read it.”

Gaeta shook his head in alarmist disbelief. “You know what this means: there’s someone wandering around the fleet who knows a hell of a lot about shoemaking- and we don’t know who they are. Because they look like us…”

“Maybe Gaius can build a cobbler-detector like his Cylon detector?”

“It could be anyone…”

“It could be someone we know...”

“At any minute they could suddenly…whip out a…” Gaeta tried to reach for the right word, instead mimed poking a hole in some leather.

Starbuck burst out laughing and pointed in his face. “Exactly! You don’t know what it’s called because you aren’t the secret cobbler!”

Gaeta rested his head in his hands, despaired “Oh gods. Should we tell the Admiral?”

He took the records book from her: “Please Lords of Kobol tell me they at least signed their name?” He looked over the entry, the precise cursive in unusual blue ink.

“…Oh.”

“What?” Starbuck said.

Gaeta’s mouth (and brain) stopped working.

 

 

She made grabby hands for the book and when he wouldn’t (couldn’t?) hand it over she leaned up and snatched it from him- a gesture that temporarily caused it to shut, so that Gaeta had to endure what felt like an eternity waiting for her to reopen it and find the right page. Eventually she did. She too recognised the distinctive handwriting.

“Ah.” Starbuck closed the book, leaned over and replaced it on the shelf where it was kept. Her next words were surprisingly gentle. “Shame you can’t just punch each other in the face like me and Lee.”

“We’re not…we haven’t...he…”

“I know it’s not the same same,” she clarified, “But there’s feelings, right. And injuries. And wishes. Seems to be like it’s maybe sort of a bit the same.”

“Feelings on my side. Injuries on his. Narcho said he hates me.”

She handed him the stogie, waited until he relented and took a puff. “First: everyone hates me, at some point in their life. You just gotta, well, it’s pitch and roll, ain’t it? And second: how can Hoshi hate you? He read that stupid book for you.”

Gaeta looked at her. “That’s not what happened.”

She cut him off. “Really? Really?! You think Hoshi wins at cards cos he’s got nice eyes? You think he dropped that whole ‘sleep in your rack’ thing by accident? He’s a Grade A _get in your head if I want to_ kind of person. I kind of wanted to make out with him myself just cos of that.”

Gaeta was sceptical. “No…he just…”

Starbuck huffed, pretending to be reluctantly revealing information. “Seriously- you should’ve heard what he said in order to beat me.”

“What?” Gaeta asked, desperately curious. Starbuck shook her head vehemently. “Oh no… I take that secret to my grave. But listen, have you ever actually watched him in the CIC?”

Gaeta must’ve looked guilty because Starbuck rolled her eyes. “Not like that, you big sap!  I mean watched him do his job? Sometimes when I’m not rotated on and I can’t sleep the Old Man lets me hang out in CIC, keep him company, and I’ve seen Lieutenant Hoshi at work. He’ll be co-ordinating every Viper and Raptor coming in and out the hangers, in conversation with tactical about gun battery alignments, scanning new lines of code in a Cylon data hacking program he’ll have written himself in his spare time, monitoring fleet traffic, pouring a cup of frakking Aerilon coffee without even looking and having a conversation with Tigh about, I don’t know, jazz music or whatever. All at the same time.”

“Hoshi likes jazz music?”

Starbuck groaned. “That’s what you took away from that? Gods you’re a lost cause.”

Gaeta looked sheepish.

“What I’m trying to tell you is that when he says something, like, oh, ‘I’d like to sleep in Mr Gaeta’s rack” he’s almost certainly doing more than one thing at once. Only one of them is messing with you so he beats you at cards.”

But Gaeta couldn’t bring himself to believe what she was saying, and he knew from past experience how dangerous futile hope could be, so he squished down the thought that she might, just might, be right, and stayed resolved to follow the path he was on, which was one well and truly away from the lieutenant. He didn’t know why Hoshi had left that review in the book, but there were a hundred more sensible, less heart-rendering reasons than that he thought Gaeta would enjoy reading it.

_You pissed him off. You disappointed him. You even offended him. And honestly of late you’ve felt that way towards yourself-_ _hence the fence-mending to everyone who was open to it._

 

“Pitch and roll?” he asked, trying to move the conversation in a new direction.

Starbuck obliged. “Roll: well, yep, all your crap tilts the ship one way- but you’ve got to learn to fly so they can see all your goodness too, levelling you out. That’s roll. Pitch? Well pitch is whether you keep your head up or give up and hit the hard deck.”

“How do you avoid that happening?”

She summoned the cigar back to her own hands, took a long, pensive drag on the remains then blew out the end, so the embers faded to grey. “Find something you love. About yourself. I don’t fly to prove myself to anyone. I fly because that’s who I am.”

“And who am I?” Gaeta asked, so uncertain what answer might come he buffered with a joke. “Tactical Officer, President’s Aide, double-agent, tactical officer again, Raptor pilot, children’s entertainer, librarian?”

Starbuck replied with an easy-going smile. “You’re a good guy. Hence why you’ve been doing all these good things.”

He looked over at her and in that moment it struck him hard that they were friends again. Maybe even better friends now.

“I heard about your run in with that weasel-dick at supply” she continued.

“In his defence, I was enquiring into a hundred or so Galactica dress blues so the Pegasus crew could have new jackets. I get why he said no.”

Starbuck chuckled. “Man, Gaeta, when you penance you penance hard don’t you?”

“Not a verb”

She gestured around the book drop. “Don’t have a dictionary to hand.”

They both laughed openly, and Gaeta felt better than he had for a long long time.

“So, as a good guy, what should I do?”

She pulled out a fresh cigar and waggled her eyebrows. He pretended to look annoyed.

“Crime springs to mind.” 


	4. PART FOUR

EIGHTEEN

_Well Helo, I failed to take your advice because look how far down the rabbit hole I am now._

Gaeta carefully turned the hatch that opened the general supplies door and stepped into the darkness beyond. His torch threw out a ghost of light which floated over the many many storage shelves that receded into the distance. This was a very bad idea.

_So say we all_

He was going to end up court martialled for the lamest crime in military history. He could already hear Romo Lampkin’s mocking voice: ‘and in the case of The Colonial Fleet vs Felix Gaeta on the charge of haberdashery larceny, my client pleads stupid as charged.’

_Like you could afford Romo Lampkin._

 

 

Previously that week Gaeta had tried to explain to Starbuck why this was a very bad idea, but like most things (see: Arrow retrieval, Caprica rescue mission, that time she wedged her own godsdamn ship and Apollo’s together and combat landed them _both_ into the hanger) once she’d made up her mind nothing could stop her. Gaeta could relate to that shunted ship on _so_ many levels. 

“Gaeta, I said I would help you, and I meant it.”

“Yes, but I really don’t think there even are 100 spare uniforms kicking around the supply store. Jenkins…”

“Weasel dick”

“...Jenkins said something about one-in-one-out- and that does make logistical sense.”

“’Logistical sense?” She jabbed him hard in the chest. “Do tigers live by logistical sense? No they do not. No matter how tacky there are. And neither do the morons who get them tattooed on their skinny ass bodies.”

Really, there were so many insults in there at once Gaeta wisely decided to sidestep them all and just nod his acquiescence.

“What about the Master-At-Arms?”

Starbuck grinned maniacally and pointed across the rec room. Gaeta followed her gesture and saw said person deep in besotted conversation with Keay.

_Well. That actually answers two questions at once. Nice to see you’re still excellent at reading whether guys are into you, Felix._

“Gods Starbuck, how many people have you coerced into this mission?”

She tapped him patronisingly on the shoulder. “All volunteers my dear lieutenant. All believers in the cause.”

Gaeta chose not to ask what the cause was. He suspected he would feel very foolish.

“Let’s just say the Master-At-Arms won’t be around to decide whether our motives in the supply dock are pure or not.”

He went back to the library and reread the entry on Advanced Cobblers techniques: eyelets, welts and cuffs. It offered up no practical advice about getting out of an ill-advised clothing-based heist.

Hence here they were.

 

 

 

“Frak me” whispered Starbuck, her voice laced with awe. “Look at all this stuff!”

“I’m really trying not to” Gaeta replied, heading off down a corridor towards what the torch seemed to indicate was a central desk. He needed information. He needed layouts and inventories. He possibly needed his head examined.

Suddenly the lights flickered on.

Gaeta froze.

“That’s better” Starbuck said cheerfully, joining him at the table. When she saw his aghast face she was nonplussed. “What? I closed the hatch. As long as we’re quiet nobody’ll have any reason to come in. And if they do, well, this place is huge, so we’ll hide. Or I’ll pretend to be a mannequin and you can be one of those resuscitation dummies that gets tongued by all the schmucks who have to do basic health and safety once a year.”

“Why can’t I be a mannequin?”

“Don’t you want to be kissed?”

 Gaeta sighed as loudly as it was humanly possible to, just to make a point. Starbuck laughed.

“So why did you insist I bring a torch?” he asked.

“Just to mess with you” she laughed. “I mean, there’s probably a box of torches in here anyway. Now, let’s find the booty and get out of here. I’m down to my last bottle of Ambrosia and Helo said he wouldn’t wait.”

_Gaeta did enjoy Helo’s nonstandard form of righteous indignation- when he wasn’t on the end of it._

They examined the layout guide built into the table in front of them. The space was demarcated out into zones, and each zone had a letter which corresponded to a category that Gaeta accessed via a screen on a nearby terminal. There were the usual expected supplies (medical, catering, tech components) as well as more vague ones (ancillary, structural, logistics.) Armaments were kept elsewhere in arms lockers inaccessible to everyone but the CO, XO, Marine Commander, Deck Chief and Master at Arms. Gaeta narrowed their search down to two likely sectors: personnel and textiles. He tapped a still gazing around the room Starbuck on the arm.

“Hey Starbuck, which one do you want?”

She looked at the screen. “Not really a people person so I’ll take textiles. Maybe get me a fancy new set of fluffy towels.” She wandered off singing some bawdy ditty Gaeta half recognised. He set off for where the map said the personnel stuff was kept.

 

_This isn’t a mission. This is a quest._

_Uh-huh._

_And quests, as oppose to missions, adventures and capers, are usually undertaken by deluded protagonists. They never get what they set out for. They only learn some (usually) painful epiphany about themselves. Or life. Or something._

_That’s literally (ha ha) what happened with the goat boy._

_You couldn’t have provided the literary theory psychoanalysis_ before _we came in here?_

_And also, the asides are now coming from_ both _wings?_

Gaeta turned off his brain and pressed on. Eventually he reached the section he was looking for. Here the shelves were stocked with toothbrushes and duffle bags and coat hangers and all sorts of myriad items that made day-to-day living on a Battlestar possible but which you never noticed until you’d misplaced or broken them. When Gaeta had stepped aboard Galactica on his first day he’d just reported to the Quartermaster and been handed a big crate with all this stuff in. This, apparently was its Origin Story.

He wandered through the shelves peering in the bigger boxes, nudging open this and that, hoping to catch a glimpse of that oh so familiar blue wool. After a good while hunting he remembered he was supposed to be a tactical officer and stopped in his tracks to think properly about where they might be. Uniforms needed hanging, so they probably wouldn’t be in a box- they’d be on a rail. Gaeta backtracked and headed to where the shelves led to the back of the dock and where floorspace was more plentiful. And lo and behold there were the clothes rails.

And also there was Starbuck, wearing a chef’s hat.

“Bonjour Monsieur, would you like to see today’s menu?”

Gaeta took the hat off her head and put it back where it’d come from.

“How many?”

“Well, there’s good news and bad news.”

“What’s the good news?”

She swept her arm over some racks behind her. “Many many dress blues choose to live out their final days here.”

Gaeta sidestepped her and went to look, elation filling his heart. Okay, not 100, but still- a significant number. If he was crafty enough he could (surreptitiously) offer former Pegasus staff the chance to swap out their old jackets for new ones (if they wished) and then bring back the defunct uniforms and the quartermasters would be none the wiser. He’d tested the waters and everyone he’d spoken to was eager to have Galactica patches on their arms. It wasn’t a disservice to the memory of Pegasus, it was a unity thing, and Gaeta was both warmed by the overwhelming sentiment and ashamed all over again of his, really kind of fascist, behaviour of earlier days.

_Ach well, lesson well and truly learned._

“You want the bad news?”

Gaeta lifted one of the jackets off the rail and held it up. “Not really but go on.”

“Look at the sleeve.”

_Pegasus._

“Are they all…”

“Yup. I reckon folk have been bringing in their damaged or ill-fitting uniforms and getting issued Galactica ones. Except now there aren’t any Galactica ones left. Or if there are they are squirreled away for the top brass.”

“So only clumsy or gym-shy officers got upgrades?”

“Yeah and we both know Hoshi is fastidious. And lean as a rake. Shame is weakness is coffee and not chocolate.”

Gaeta put the jacket back on the rail and turned, his face one of resignation. “Oh well. It was a nice idea.” He sighed. “Did you get your towels?”

She laughed. “The mission was Galactica blues. I complete the mission. Spoils are uncouth.”

“She thinks ‘penance’ is a verb but knows the word ‘uncouth.’”

Starbuck grinned. “Ask me how I know…”

He laughed too and they both headed back along the aisle towards the light.

“For the record,” he said quietly “I wasn’t going to offer Hoshi a Galactica uniform.”

“Bit big gesturey?”

“Very big gesturey. And I’m trying to cut down on my unwanted gestures to him- to none. But everyone else…” Gaeta tried to soften the failure by listing all the ways this quest was a dumb idea. “Anyway, I mean, but realistically, people would have to be given the correct size of jacket, and there’s no way we’d be that fortunate to match up. Gods, imagine, we’d have reduced half the Colonial Fleet to exposing their bony wrists and midriffs, or have them shambling around like orphans in hand-me-downs.”

“Well that would be embarrassing” Starbuck chipped in. “Although maybe the Cylons would leave us alone out of pity.”

“Darn it, there was an upside!”

They reached the hatch, whereupon Gaeta noticed a pile of neatly folded towels by the door. Also 3 bottles of ambrosia, a Pyramid ball and a cardboard box. On the side of the box was scrawled ‘Galactica Gift Shop.’

“Starbuck…”

“The box is for you. Also, you’ll have to get the hatch” she said, labouring to scoop up all of her bounty. Gaeta cautiously unfolded the flaps and peered inside.

The box was full of circular Galactica insignias. Gaeta was beginning to wonder if the giftshop was at the root of everything good in the universe.

“Speaking of darning…” Starbuck cackled. “And yes…you may refer to me as God…”

 

NINETEEN

Then there came a day when Admiral Adama ordered Lieutenant Hoshi to be prepared to nuke a planet which had a lot of people he cared about on, and afterwards the Battlestar was a sombre and reticent place to be for a while as everyone was reminded that even though they’d left New Caprica behind, the war still followed them. Gaeta thought about what Hoshi had said about lights suddenly flickering out as your friends died, and he snuck into the observation deck to press his face against the cool glass one more time, thanking the Gods he didn’t really even believe in that he hadn’t been on duty that day.

 

Starbuck had crashed a raptor whilst on the planet and- never one to deal well with being incapacitated- was lying low until her hands were sufficiently healed that she didn’t feel like the object of sympathy. She’d also it seemed reached some sort of accord with Dee and Lee because although the air between the three of them was never exactly clear, it was certainly not as toxic as it had been before. Dee was more at peace, and that pleased Gaeta. He liked Starbuck, but he loved Dee, and really, Starbuck did just need to keep it in her pants more.

They all had food again, which was great, but it took a few weeks of algae-orientated misery before any fresh fruit and vegetables and grain started to be shuttled out from the farm ships. Gaeta hadn’t minded the algae: in all honesty he didn’t really have that sophisticated a palate, which made dinner dates somewhat tricky to negotiate since he ended up having to praise something he had absolutely no feelings about whatsoever (usually a poncey berry which to Gaeta tasted like all the other types of berry there were in the 12 colonies) or lie about his favourite food (because naming his _actual_ favourite food would probably mean that was the last dinner date they had.)

It was probably why the few dates he ever went on were alcohol-based.

Which maybe in retrospect brought with it its own unpalatable results.

His covert distribution of Galactica insignias (smaller in circumference because they were technically tourist trinkets, but hey,) had been an overwhelming, if also quiet (on Gaeta’s insistence) success, bar running out within a week and not being able for the life of him get hold of the final half dozen needed to get full colours, so to speak. Under his rack sat the cardboard box, now filled with old Pegasus patches, many still trailing bits of thread from where they’d been unpicked (or hacked? “Frak Narcho, what did you use to remove it?” “A breadknife.” “Where did you get a breadknife?”)

 

As he sat at the bar in Joe’s he took his time gazing around the hanger, enjoying the warm hustle and bustle of a ship with a well-fed and correctly dressed crew, getting back on its feet, its eyes back on the prize: Earth.

Hoshi slid onto the stool next to him and waved at Joe. “Hey Gaeta.”

“Hey.”

And yes, technically they’d probably spoken to each other almost every other day in the CIC since the whole unscheduled rack visit on Colonial Day, but really they hadn’t said anything at all. Gaeta understood why: he wasn’t the only philosopher aboard Galactica. If Hoshi held that ‘sometimes what doesn’t need to be said should be said anyway,’ then by not saying anything about that night he clearly meant nothing needed to be said about it.

Or something

It was hard to put into words Gaeta’s philosophy of Hoshi’s philosophy.

But clearly they were now about to have a drink. Next to each other.

Which was something.

So.

“Did you get to go down to the algae planet when we were there?” the lieutenant asked.

“Yeah, I did.”

“What was it like?”

Gaeta remembered the seemingly endless changing of dank vests, being uncomfortably aware of his chest and armpit hair. “Hot.”

“In a good way?”

“No. But the smell…”

“A good smell?”

 Gaeta looked wistfully off into the distance. “Do you remember at the academy, in the canteen, you used to be able to get these little Bakewell tarts. Almond cakes, with a white icing disc and a cherry on the top…”

 “We had them in my time too. In little foil cases.”

 Gaeta nodded.

“The planet smelled like that?”

“No. It smelled like wet dog. I used to work up a sweat just trying to imagine those Bakewell tarts, in order to keep myself from gagging.”

Hoshi actually smiled then. “I used to put one in my trouser pocket for later. And…try a remember it was there- with about a 70/30 success rate.”

Gaeta turned to look at him for a moment, took a punt. “Who’d forget a wet dog?”

Hoshi rolled his eyes. “That’s terrible. I was hoping that our first conversation after me behaving so inappropriately by your rack would be erudite and witty. So much for expectations.”

_Apparently they were doing wry. Okay._

Gaeta assembled his face into what he hoped passed as incredulity. “’By? By my rack?’ I am pretty sure you were mostly _in_ my rack. And then wholly in it. Since I spent the night sleeping next to a cold and draughty broken hatch.”

“That’s fixed now.”

Gaeta’s incredulity was genuine this time. “Really? How?”

He had to wait for an answer because Joe had come over and Hoshi ordered a beer. He enquired as to whether Gaeta wanted one, but Gaeta shook his head, pointing at his half full glass. When Joe headed off to the tap the explanation came.

“I put in a request with maintenance.”

“And they just came and fixed it?”

“Yeah.”

Gaeta sensed by Hoshi’s slightly elevated tone of voice that there was more to the story than that. He risked narrowing his eyes at the man. “What did you give them?” he asked suspiciously.

“What makes you…”

“Hoshi. You are looking at a man who has stood behind a woman who has tried to get some forks from the assistant quartermaster. This is an antique Battlestar held together by spike tape and the sheer force of Admiral Adama glaring at the joists.” He swirled his beer around a few times.  “I do not doubt that getting maintenance to fix a never-used anyway hatch door would be similarly, if not more difficult. Please tell me it wasn’t coffee. If knowing one end of a spanner from another was all it took…”

Hoshi was giving all his attention to drinking his newly arrived beer, but Gaeta could see him smiling around the glass as he swallowed. The difficult ‘whatever’ between them that Hoshi had indicated with a vague hand wave in the library all that time ago was now, it seemed, gone. They sat in surprisingly comfortable silence and watched the world go by for a while.

Eventually Hoshi turned slightly on his seat and Gaeta, sensing that he wanted to speak again, mirrored the movement.

“I know we rolled right over it earlier in order to make a joke about maintenance, but…but I want to say that I am truly sorry for what happened.” His eyes flickered up for the briefest moment, then returned to the bar top.

Gaeta knew what shame felt like, so he replied, quickly and firmly “It’s fine. I know you were, well, you were upset. Bo Cooper’s daughter meant a lot to you. And I know people always say memorials are supposed to give you an opportunity to remember someone’s life, but…well, they’re just upsetting, aren’t they?”

“How did you know we were friends?”

He answered, wary that he might be going too far: “I’m sure Mr Lampkin, when confronted with a person’s rack that has only one image blue-tacked up, would pocket it. He has an uncanny way of identifying highly sentimental totems. Colonel Tigh told me Harlin had a thing about why shells curled a certain way. And you had a picture of a shell by your bed.”

“It was her party trick. I didn’t even notice whether you had anything on yours” the lieutenant replied.

“You didn’t even notice it wasn’t your rack” came the light reply.

They drank their beers for a bit, watching the crew in the hanger. Over in the corner someone was playing a song on the piano. Gaeta almost called Joe over to tell him it needed tuning but followed that thought to its logical disappointing conclusion: the chances of a piano tuner being in the fleet were slim to none, and so he ignored the occasional irksome flats and went back to nursing his drink.

 “I think I have some stuff I need to work on,” Hoshi offered up, after a while, levity in his voice. He scrubbed his hand backwards through his hair, which Gaeta couldn’t help but notice messed up the (apparently evidently precarious) neatness it displayed whilst in the CIC, because when he took his hand away a tuft defiantly remained. Gaeta allowed himself one final fall into temptation by imagining that the Baby Deer probably had ubiquitous bedhead in the mornings, before squishing that realisation down and concentrating on the newly earned platonic ease between them.

_Don’t wreck this._

“Everyone has stuff,” he said.  “Starbuck lacks impulse control. Dee isn’t assertive enough. I recently became aware of my terrible fascist tendencies brought about by severe separation anxiety.”

“Well, there is that.”

Gaeta pretended to be offended. “Thanks.”

“But…on Colonial Day..” Hoshi’s voice was firm “I didn’t mean to kiss you…”

Gaeta finished his drink and placed it carefully down on the bar. _Well, that was that then._

Of course, Gaeta had _known_ that, and he was fully prepared for it to sting when he heard it out loud, but actually, it didn’t hurt. Maybe he’d just properly prepared for it. Maybe in his new incarnation as a philosopher he was just a hell of lot more stoical now.

_Uh-huh_  

“But at Dee’s birthday I _did_ mean to yell at you in front of everyone. I know I did. I mean, I think I intentionally drank way too much beer at Joe’s first, for some bravado, then I tagged along to the Observation lounge instead of going to bed, and kind of just hung around for the right opportunity.” He stared into his drink.  “That’s not a very healthy sort of person, is it?”

_Well. This was something else. Entirely._

“Lieutenant, if the worst thing you do is call someone out on their shit…”

Hoshi interrupted him. “No. I should’ve called you out on it weeks before. Not repress stuff until it bursts out at the party of someone who really deserves better from her friend.”

“Well, there is that.”

That got a small smile. “Hmm.”

Gaeta decided to throw him a lifeline, which happened to be made of some truths: “So, to summarise: I should think about stuff before I speak. And you should speak, rather than think about stuff too much.”  He lifted his empty glass, hopefully. You want to make a pact, Mr Hoshi?”

Hoshi clinked it with his, which was just dregs now anyway. “It’s worth a try, Mr Gaeta.”

He heard the other man take a deep breath, then let it out. “Can I ask you something else?”

“Sure.”

Hoshi made the question light, but in a way that only pointed to it’s true weight. “Back at the algae planet, would you have done it- if ordered?”

Hoshi was looking at him now, and he could see he knew exactly what he was talking about. He took his time to think over the question, tilting his empty glass, toying with the idea of calling Joe over with a refill. _Would he have fired the nukes?_

“It’s…it’s hard to think about now, because, well, it’s now. I don’t know” he tried.

He could tell that the other man had hoped for more, and it dawned on him that Hoshi’s question and Hoshi’s statement about himself were perhaps linked, so he committed to the moment and revised his reply.

“It was a direct order. From Admiral Adama. Who is someone who has proven his worth and earned our loyalty.”

Hoshi wasn’t watching his face anymore, he was staring out into the middle distance, obviously back in that moment in the CIC, with all the gun locks activated and nuke chambers open. “Couldn’t the same be said for Commander Adama- down on the surface?”

William Adama may have been Admiral of the Fleet, but Lee Adama was Hoshi’s Commander. They served day-in-day-out on the Pegasus together before New Caprica. Hell, they were some of the last people on board Pegasus before she broke up into a million pieces over the planet. That was earned loyalty too. Plus, Galactica had always bucked against the idea that the good of the many always outweighed the good of the few. Was keeping Earth safe from the Cylons really worth the lives of Lee and the Chief and Dee and the other folk down there?

“And couldn’t that also be said of Admiral Cain?”

But Gaeta had this one: “Maybe- at some point when you served under her. But not by the end. Admiral Adama was putting aside his personal feelings, to do what he felt was right- by the end Cain was _all_ personal feelings- because vengeance is personal.”

Hoshi nodded, accepting that analysis. Gaeta went on. “I’m just…I’m glad you didn’t have to decide that in the end” he said, aware of the unsolvable nature of the choice. “But, Hoshi, look at me for a moment…”

Eyes met his. He pressed on, spoke with certainty. “Adama had something Cain didn’t: hope. He hoped the Cylons wouldn’t call his bluff. I think a person’s capacity for hope is the thing we should admire. Both Adamas are men of hope. And for what it’s worth, I think so are you. Because whichever decision you came to in that moment, it would the actions of an officer acting on his principles.”

It’s funny how when you first like someone all you see is their eyes, or their hair, maybe their mouth. But when you get to know them, and you start seeing them as a whole person instead, someone you respect, someone distinct and worth knowing for that reason alone, then you notice entirely different things about their physical form. Not attractive things, beautiful things- but human things.  Gaeta watched as Hoshi’s shoulders relaxed, he stopped worrying the skin at the corner of his thumb with his other thumb, the creases around the eyes untightened, the pale fingers scrubbed at the fleck of grey at his temple. These weren’t features- these were artefacts that said this human being in front of him felt, and changed, and bore the marks of both of those things.

“Thank you Mr Gaeta.”

A memory of dusky pink paint floated into his mind. “Anytime Mr Hoshi.”

That obscure call-back got an actual guffaw. Hoshi leaned slightly off his stool, so he could crane over the bar and catch Joe’s eye. Joe raised a finger, meaning he’d be there in a moment. Gaeta took the opportunity to see if he couldn’t solve at least one of the many mysteries this officer seemed to present to him.

“Now, can _I_ ask you a question, as payment, for answering all your questions all evening?”

“ _All?_ I’ve literally been sat here half an hour. “

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Hoshi waved his hand, a sign of assent, and Gaeta grinned- which made him instantly frown suspiciously.

“Um, fair warning though, it’s about Harlin Cooper.”

The reply was delayed, as if he was debating how to respond. “We weren’t…”

Gaeta raised his hands in apology. “No! Er, nope not that. Which is none of my business anyway…but no. Not that.”

“Okay. Go ahead.”

“How does a blind civilian get on board the Pegasus?”

He could see Hoshi understood the puzzle. “She had some help.”

“I figured that. Someone…willing to take a risk to do the right thing.”

“Yeah I guess. I think Bo came up with the idea of pretending she was sick and needed to be carried over in a med stretcher. Meant she didn’t have to walk and give her blindness away.”

Gaeta folded his arms. “But Cain was cherry-picking from the civilians. Laird for engineering, Cooper for armaments.”

Hoshi said lightly “I guess she was integral to the war effort.”

Gaeta waited for the rest, willing Hoshi to admit there was more to it- but all he got was those brown eyes waiting patiently for the other person to give in and move on.

“Well” Gaeta said. “I am glad to have met a man with that calibre of ingenuity and courage.”

Hoshi nodded.

Gaeta pointedly added: “Galactica’s lucky to have them.”

_Yeah that’s right. Bo Cooper’s on the McConnell. Unsuccessful jamming from the Comms Officer, for once._

 

At that moment Joe finally appeared with another glass of beer, which he set down in front of Hoshi.

 “Can I get you another drink?” Hoshi asked.

_Can you get me another drink?_

Gaeta shook his head and stood up. “I’ll pass.” He buttoned up his jacket and left some cubits on the bar for Joe. “Have a good rest of the evening.”

A nod. _The nod._ Except it wasn’t. This was open, light, accepting. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

 

Later as Gaeta lay in his rack glancing at the mementos on his wall (a picture of Dee and him goofing around in one of the bars at the Scorpia shipyards; his parents under an apricot tree; a page of a score for a complicated piece of obscure concerto that he kept for when he couldn’t sleep- since working out the fingering usually sent him right back under; some other sentimental stuff from here and there) he decided that really, _really,_ Lieutenant Louis Hoshi, formerly of Sagittaron, formerly of Pegasus, formerly background person, probably deserved to wear a Galactica uniform more than almost anyone else in the galaxy.

The pen from the giftshop wasn’t going to cut it.

Gaeta was going to need another patch.

 

TWENTY

Gaeta couldn’t for the life of him figure out what he’d done to piss Colonel Tigh off this morning, but it definitely felt like whatever it was, he needed to remember asap. Already he’d been sighed at and growled at and even eye-rolled at- which is way more intimidating when it’s a one-eye only kind of roll, because you don’t know if the other eye is joining in or staring death rays at you behind the patch.

Also, Gaeta was pretty sure it was him specifically because everything else that day had been going swimmingly. Half a dozen ships had successfully docked with Galactica for vital water transfers: normally a nerve-inducing and tedious task that held about a 60/40 success rate. But today every ship’s navigator had smoothly made the seal with no bumps or aborted line-ups. The water engineers on Galactica, who regularly vented into space a measure of water somewhere between a hell of a lot and way, way too much had seemingly not spilled enough to even fill a goldfish bowl. Honestly it was sizing up to be text-book success.

“Gods dammit Mr Gaeta! You don’t need to tell me every godsdamn time they do it right. I _expect_ them to do it right. Report the frak ups. This isn’t a pat-ourselves-on-the-back tour.”

“No sir” Gaeta replied submissively. When the XO turned away he caught Helo’s eye but Helo just shrugged his ignorance.

 

A little while later it had been the raptors. Athena had taken a squad out to light up the side of Galactica’s bow where she’d taken a particularly heavy scorching performing the in-atmos jump on New Caprica. A dozen Raptor lights lit up the patchwork of missing heat tiles and blackened panels and transmitted the images to CIC. With so many ships out at once Gaeta and Hoshi were working in tandem at comms to co-ordinate the operation. However, it _kind of_ felt to Gaeta like only one of them was getting his work criticised.

“I mean come on Mr Gaeta! Shall I get Mr Hoshi to call over to the Agro ship and requisition a Mother Duck because clearly getting all your ducks in a row is not gonna happen today?”

_What the frak. His ducks were fine thank you very much._

“Sorry sir.”

By his shoulder he caught Hoshi smirking.

“Hey!” he hissed. “Don’t make me use your call sign.”

The smirk vanished.

And later still it was his appearance, of all things.

As he was returning to tactical after finally compiling all the damage reports with engineering he passed by the central table and was stopped by a bony outstretched arm. By now Admiral Adama had joined them and was peering over the schematics in front of him, armed with an important stubby pencil, completely focussed on where the love of his life might be hurt. For some ungodsly reason Starbuck was loitering too.

“Hold it right there, lieutenant” Tigh said, also still looking at the schematics. Gaeta felt awkward, pinned in place but other than that ignored. However, after the water and the ducks he did as he was told.

After a minute Tigh lowered his arm and turned to face him. “Get a good night’s sleep, did we?”

“Yes sir?”

“Not up to too many…nocturnal activities?”

Gaeta managed to look both needlessly embarrassed and understandably confused. “No….sir?”  

“Hmm…” Tigh scratched his stubble, all the while taking the measure of Gaeta’s form, making Gaeta feel supremely uncomfortable.

“Erm, can I ask….why you asked me that sir?”

“News to me that an XO needs to explain himself to a lieutenant.”

Gaeta literally took a deferential step back. “He absolutely doesn’t sir. Ignore what I said.”

“So you weren’t doing anything…creative…last night, that may have distracted you from your regular morning routine?”

Gaeta desperately fought the desire to interpret that the way Tigh was making it sound.

_Chance would be a fine thing_

But also, ‘distracted?’ He resisted the urge to touch his own face to check if maybe, maybe he forgot to shave?

Really, what else could it be? His hair was too short to brush, he definitely had all his clothes on and…

_Maybe there’s toothpaste on your face?_

_There_ isn’t _toothpaste on your face, your frakking weirdo. Numerous people would’ve told you, at numerous earlier points in the day._

Adama’s quiet rumbling voice drifted up from the table, his glance still fixed on the ship. “Kara, why aren’t you out flying CAP at the moment?”

“It’s my day off, sir” Starbuck snapped back, all military discipline.

_Well that’s a weird question and a weird response._

Adama spoke again “And why are you here in the CIC?”

“Because you invited me sir.”

“Need permission, do you?”

Gaeta was very interested to watch Starbuck attempt and mostly succeed to keep any instinctive wise-ass reply in her brain rather that out her mouth. “Yes sir, absolutely sir!”

Adama nodded, _still_ not looking up, still all about the pencil.

“Even though you’re a Captain?”

“Sir, yes sir. Not about rank. About stations.”

This was weird. This was a weird conversation and although Gaeta, like most people, was very aware thank you very much, that these two had a rapport that passed the usual comprehension of most folk, why he had been bodily halted in order to what? Bear witness? prompt it? he had no living clue.

“You mean, by analogy, Colonel Tigh here would have to ask permission, to, I don’t know, get inside your viper?”

“I think Colonel Tigh should have to have permission to get inside anything that isn’t his, sir” Starbuck grinned. Clearly the suppressing wasn’t a hundred percent effective. There was a muffled growl beside her.

Adama continued. “So. Pilots and deck crew get to be on the flight deck. CIC officers get to be in CIC. That about it?”

Starbuck was definitely staring at Gaeta for some reason now. “That’s about it sir.”

“And one more thing, Kara. How’d you recognise a CIC Galactica officer?”

The mad grin, which hadn’t really ever left her mouth, returned. She gestured around the room and everyone in there. “Uniform’ll do it sir. Gotta be duty blues. Gotta be Galactica patches.”

 

_Oh frak._

_They’re all doing a Thing._

_And he’s the thing they’re doing it to._

He watched in mounting panic as Adama finally put the pencil down, straightened up and looked straight at him. Gaeta immediately added a fifth person to the list of ‘People That Intimidate You’ after piano teacher, hostile-environment lecturer, Cylon Model 3 and Assistant Quartermaster. Although honestly all those guys were of nothing compared to the craggy rockface of command bearing down on him right now.

“Mr Hoshi, will you please join us.”

Hoshi appeared in front of him, wisely avoiding eye contact. The face of neutrality was well and truly being used.

_See this would be a good time for a Basestar to attack, or something vital to break, or maybe a Cylon agent to make themselves known. Perhaps without the whole ‘shooting in the stomach at point blank range’ approach. Perhaps just a ‘Hi I’m a Cylon agent, let’s all deal with that and leave Gaeta alone’ spiel._

Gaeta looked wistfully at the door.

Dee came in.

It wasn’t the same.

He waited for her to speak, assuming she had come into CIC for a legitimate reason. Except Hoshi was on comms, so Dee must also be on her day off.

_She’s part of the thing. The thing that’s happening to him right now._

_Frak._

She threw him a warm apologetic smile and came and stood next to Starbuck.

“Mr Hoshi” Adama said. “Could you please show Mr Gaeta what a correct Galactica duty blues jacket looks like?”

Hoshi hid his confusion well enough, but he seemed reluctant to move. Gaeta realised that he wasn’t in on this, which was good in one way, and very very bad in many soon to be made explicit other ways.

_Could he run away? Would the marine by the door tackle him? Would that be undignified?_

“Sir….I was Pegasus so…”

Tigh didn’t let him finish. “Stick out your arm lieutenant, that’s an order. Nobody’s asking you to land a raptor in a 1000 feet hanger bay.”

Gaeta took in the alliances: Starbuck, Helo and Dee were openly enjoying this; Tigh and Adama were maintaining the façade; Hoshi was feeling uncomfortable. And Gaeta didn’t know what the hell to feel.

Hoshi reluctantly stuck out his arm.

“See that Mr Gaeta?” the Admiral said.  “That is what the uniform of an officer should look like when he or she comes on watch. XO?”

Tigh’s beady twinkling eye turned on him again. “Now stick out your arm, Mr Gaeta.”

Gaeta obliged. Everyone stared at the navy circle where his insignia used to be. Earlier that night as he unpicked stitches he’d been surprised to see just how much the wool had changed colour over time, but the darker blue made that apparent to everybody.

“What happened to your jacket?” Hoshi asked incredulously.

_Well Felix, there it is. What the hell are you going to say to that?_

“Wait. What happened to mine?!” and suddenly Hoshi was twisting to see his own shoulder. He must’ve caught a glimpse of the gold because he was now tugging at the sleeve to force the material round more.

And then he abandoned that plan and began frantically unbuttoning the whole thing.

In a matter of seconds he’d taken the entire jacket off and was laying it flat out on the table, not caring that he was covering the Battlestar’s schematics. Admiral Adama’s important stubby pencil got knocked onto the floor.

Nobody picked it up.

They were all far too intent on watching.

_In many ways a lieutenant stripping in CIC is actually more undignified than a lieutenant running away- so there’s that as a take-away from all of this. Although, you probably should stop him from blemishing his record._

“Hoshi, wait…” Gaeta attempted, although frak if he knew what the end of that sentence should be.

Hoshi was pawing at the fabric, straightening out the lapels and laying the sleeves flat. Finally, he pressed his fingers over the Galactica insignia, the luminous gold burnished on the shoulder, and stared open mouthed at Gaeta.

Gaeta valiantly tried not to stare at Hoshi’s pale bare shoulders. And particularly the one that had a ridiculous tattoo on it.


	5. EPILOGUE

TWENTY

“In my defence, Lieutenant, I thought you’d notice _before_ your watch started.”

“In _my_ defence, Lieutenant, I’ve worn the same two jackets for the last ten or so years. I stopped noticing them a while ago.”

Gaeta sighed and shook his head. “It’s official: you’re never going to get promoted to tactical officer. In fact, I doubt you’ll promoted to anything above what you are already. This is it for you, Lieutenant.”

“Well _I’m_ not sure we should have a tactical officer who breaks into people’s lockers and steals their personal items. I think you should be _demoted_ , ensign.”

Gaeta laughed. “First, it was my old locker. And second, your jackets _temporarily_ left it and were promptly returned an hour later. Hardly a crime.”

“Whereas liberating the patches for everyone else’s jackets from the stores….”

“What? I have no knowledge of what you’re talking about. Sounds like something Starbuck would be involved in- not me.”

“Hmm….”

Hoshi raised his hand and pointed at the dusky pink library walls all around them. “And the paint? Was that liberated as well?”

“A freebie, although I had to pay in a way to get Racetrack to help me pick it up.”

He watched Hoshi twist and press a palm against the wall he was leaning against. The tips of his warm fingers left little sweat marks. “Such a weird colour for a library.”

“Better than nothing.”

“Remember when you thought that Raptor was carrying contraband and you made the Chief get the manifest, but it was just the paint.”

Gaeta decided that nobody benefitted in knowing the truth, so he kept mostly schtum, saying only “I was being thorough.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s good for an Officer of the Deck to work their way through procedures.”

“Or pootle their way through…”

Gaeta leaned up off the floor, teased a book off the nearest shelf above him and launched it at Hoshi’s head.

It landed on the ground with a small thud. Hoshi made a fuss of checking the spine hadn’t broken, then scowled dramatically. “Sticky plasters do nothing for this boring face, remember?” he said.

_Gaeta wholeheartedly disagreed._

Hoshi then began crawling towards the table near the door. “Vandalism is a crime, though. I’m writing you in the records book. You better call Lampkin.”

Gaeta let him get a little way away then looped his arm around his bare torso and tugged him back against his own chest. “That’s not what it’s for” he murmured into Hoshi’s hair.

“Says who?”

“Says me. I supplied it. It’s for noting which books you’ve taken out and returned and for trying out your stand-up comedy via _hilarious_ cobbler manual reviews.”

“You’ll see. When we reach Earth everyone’s going to need shoes.”

“And you’re going to open a little workshop, are you?”

“I think it might be a nice way to live.”

“This is because you can’t make money from cards because nobody will play the Baby Deer anymore, isn’t it?”

“I really don’t understand that nickname. Or _any_ of the nicknames people seem to give me on this ship...”

Gaeta became serious for a moment. “You think we will ever find a planet to settle on?”

Hoshi smiled, quoted _an actual_ philosopher. “Always look on the bright side of life.”

Gaeta gently kissed Hoshi’s tattoo. “When are you going to tell me the story behind this?”

“Never. Never is when.”

“But I told you about mine” he pouted.

Hoshi rolled his eyes. “Felix. You told everyone about yours. Even people who never asked. Even complete strangers. You literally told a documentary crew. Anyone would think you were actually _proud_ of it…which for the record, would be a very strange position to adopt. Because, you know, Starbuck and Anders set the bar pretty high.”

“Thanks” came the piqued reply- but it wasn’t genuine, as evidenced by Gaeta’s hand drifting from Hoshi’s shoulder down his side and towards his hip.

Hoshi snared the hand and lifted it, so he could see Gaeta’s watch. “Ugh. Yes please but also I’m afraid not because you need to be in CIC very soon and I need a shower and have something to eat. We could shirk our duty but we both know we’re the only two people in the fleet who know what all the buttons do.”

“True enough.”

He felt the body against him sigh for a moment, then Gaeta was up and retrieving his vests from the floor. A moment later he threw the lieutenant his as well. They dressed quickly, lacing on boots and fixing belts, but also turning each other’s buttons into the buttonholes, straightening lapels, giving the other person the once over to check they were presentable once again. Even Gaeta’s jacket was correctly patched again, thanks to Lee Adama. Gaeta tried to coax Hoshi’s hair back into its neat parting but that was pretty much a lost cause. Perhaps the Colonial Fleet should’ve thought about hats.

_Gods did Gaeta love this library._

_And the fact it locked from the inside._

_And also Louis Hoshi apparently._

He escorted Hoshi to his duty locker and waited whilst the lieutenant turned the hatch wheel. When the door opened he said, “Thank you for your company Mr Hoshi” and Hoshi said “Anytime Mr Gaeta” – something they’d been saying to each other over and over for all the time they’d been doing this.

Which was ever since he’d finished his patchless shift that ridiculous day in the CIC, stepped out into the busy corridor, saw Lieutenant Hoshi was loitering, and got immediately pressed up against the wall _right by the door for frak’s sake_. And where he discovered apparently this time Hoshi very much did mean to kiss him.

 

Gaeta glanced at his watch. He still had a bit of time before his shift started. He put his hands in his pockets and set off for the mess for a cup of ordinary coffee (since it all tasted the same to him) whistling a pleasant little tune.  


End file.
